


Maybe This Time

by Hatsonhamburgers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Lots of plot, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Multiple, Pensieves, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Questions Of Consent, So much smut, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Triggers, but nothing unconsentual, janus thickey ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-04 08:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13360224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsonhamburgers/pseuds/Hatsonhamburgers
Summary: Draco Malfoy has returned home from France after a five-year Potions Mastery study.  He opens a shop in Knockturn Alley, is researching mental health treatments, and has a lovely flat all his own.  The ire toward his name seems to have blown over, and he's treated kindly by even those who were opposite of him in the war.  His life feels so full, but he can't ignore that he knows what's missing: his old nemesis and obsession, Harry Potter.But something's wrong with Harry.  He seems to have had a complete breakdown after the war, and has spent the last five years trapped in time.  Every day is the same, and every day, Draco makes amends to him.  Potter seems to have lost himself to the trauma, and Draco wants to be the one to help him recover.  But not all is what it seems, and Draco may need Harry just as much.





	1. Draco Returns to London

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you a million times to Bettibuckeye, my wonderful beta who is patient and awesome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy has returned home from France after a five-year Potions Mastery study. He opens a shop in Knockturn Alley, is researching mental health treatments, and has a lovely flat all his own. The ire toward his name seems to have blown over, and he's treated kindly by even those who were opposite of him in the war. His life feels so full, but he can't ignore that he knows what's missing: his old nemesis and obsession, Harry Potter.
> 
> But something's wrong with Harry. He seems to have had a complete breakdown after the war, and has spent the last five years trapped in time. Every day is the same, and every day, Draco makes amends to him. Potter seems to have lost himself to the trauma, and Draco wants to be the one to help him recover. But not all is what it seems, and Draco may need Harry just as much.
> 
> EDIT: There was a chapter missing, I have inserted it: Chapter 4- so the narrative actually makes sense now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some publishing problems, so I apologize to the 1400 ish people who read it without chapter 4 in it. Opps!

Draco carefully edged forward, avoiding the short, plump, middle-aged witch queueing in front of him. She wasn’t particularly pleasant smelling, and she had a rather large, mangled kneazle wrapped about her shoulders. It regarded Draco suspiciously with a slitted green eye, as if waiting for him to make a move so it had reason to attack him. It reminded Draco a bit of the feline that followed Granger around in third year, but perhaps with a better temperament. He was never much one to have pets, and could hardly see why one would want to have such a beast invading your personal space.

The line shifted and shuffled forward a few inches. There couldn’t be anything more frustrating than waiting in Customs to return to England. Draco withheld a petulant sigh and checked his pocket watch again. He still had plenty of time until his portkey activated, but at the rate the line moved, he might very well end up saying in Paris overnight again, which was less than desirable.

Perhaps not. There was that young wizard he had met last summer; he lived in the city, and might be up for a little fun to waste the day. Tempting, especially considering the arse on him, but Draco knew the sooner he got back into London, the better.

Draco had spent the better part of five years in pursuit of his Potions Mastery. He was impatient and ready to move forward with his life. There was only so much hiding away with Mother on the Riviera he could stand before the beautiful view got the best of him, and he had to return home. If for no other reason but to breathe the air, stand in the rain, and avoid eye-contact with strangers like a proper British gentlewizard. Not that he didn’t appreciate how affectionate the French were (especially the nightlife, where he had sewn his oats and made a name for himself in the society pages), but it was time to grow up and return to London.

He had a contact in Knockturn Alley, not quite on the wrong side of the war, but still very much sympathetic to pureblood wizards, who was retiring and willing to sell his shop, including the flat above it, for a reasonable enough price. Draco had just enough leftover of his inheritance (war reparations had quite drained the Malfoy vaults) to be able to purchase it and have it updated. He fancied hiring a witch or wizard to work the counter so he could concentrate on the actual potion-making, but he had yet to feel out the political climate of London to know if he was still the pariah he was when he left in September of 1998.

It was strange to think that that much time had passed. Some days, the war still felt like a fresh wound, and Draco kept a mind healer on call in the case of a resurgence of his nightmares. They had gotten better since he had begun to take his sessions seriously, but occasionally the nightmares would be triggered by something innocuous, a pile of furniture in an antique shop, a dead bird in the street, or even when the floo fire would burn too loudly. It had felt ridiculous to have such reactions, but he had learned that there were things about the mind that were beyond the scope of what was commonly taught to wizards, things that weren’t of magic, but of delicate brain chemistry and electrical impulses.

It had fascinated him to learn that a neural pathway of thinking and feeling was forged in the midst of trauma, and could be triggered by simple visual or auditory association, and that forged pathway would fire again, causing the same body sensations, emotions, and base reactions that occurred during the trauma. He took this knowledge and began to study neuroscience,  _muggle_  advances in neuroscience, alongside his potions work, and it brought him further along in his quest to create safe potions for wizards to recover from PTSD, and others to aid in Dreamless Sleep or other opiate addictions.

Somewhere along the way, he began to discover the vast knowledge of muggle science about the brain, and it began to obliterate the protective walls he had built around his ingrained ideology. Muggles and wizards had so many similar chemicals in their brains, it began to make less and less sense to hate them. Sometimes he would get stuck in the turmoil of his childhood teachings, seeing how wrong his family was. The shift in thinking happened so fast it had given him panic attacks regularly.   
He felt he had made progress, but there was still so much to learn, and he felt coming home to London would provide him more opportunities to work with war survivors than in France.

But he was still unsure how his reception would go.

Draco finally stood in front of the dour looking French customs wizard, holding out his passport. He stood perfectly at attention, holding his face neutral, while the attendant leafed through the booklet, pausing when he reached the page stamped with red block letters stating,  _Former Death Eater_. Draco suppressed a sigh, preparing for a line of humiliating questioning or even being taken to a small room and his belongings searched. However, the wizard just regarded him with the usual distaste the French reserved for the English, and flicked his wand idly, stamping the booklet and handing it back. Draco had to almost shake himself in surprise before he took his passport back, picked up his satchel, and moved through a low, foul-smelling carpeted hallway to the office where he retrieved his portkey.

Ten minutes later, he found himself in Knockturn Alley in front of a smartly polished storefront, in sharp contrast with the surrounding shops. He revolved slowly, inhaling the sharp smell of smog, sage, ale, and the faintest hint of urine (but not nearly as strong as the smell in Paris). There were still a few of the usual suspects in the remaining shops, but most of the older, Pureblood businesses had left soon after the war; it was easier to leave willingly with their dignity intact than to let their businesses to go under. Mother had kept tabs on such things- that was how Draco had the good fortune of learning about the space that would now be his livelihood and his home.

He had hired a small local company of freed House Elves to re-establish the magic core of the building and clear it so he would be accepted as the new owner. It had taken several weeks, but Flipsy, a relative of an elder Elf that had been with the Malfoys for generations, had appeared earlier in the week to announce that the shop was, ‘as fresh as a wee baby, Flipsy made sure for Master Draco- the flat is being to his liking.’ Flipsy was a proud Elf who had built her little crew of freed Elves into something that still filled their ingrained need to help wizards, yet worked by their own leave, and had an impeccable reputation.

Draco twirled his wand and cast the unlocking charm, swinging the door wide open. He stepped in and smiled with satisfaction. Flipsy did indeed ‘make it being to his liking’- it was polished and airy, the reception area fitted with nice contemporary chairs and a sofa made of leather, a bronze coffee table with reading material, and quite a few flowering plants and herbs. The counter was made of rich mahogany, which was offset by a bronze rail and polished ancient wide floorboards. The floating chandeliers burned softly, giving the room a warm welcoming feel. He could sense the building feeling him out, and sighing around him. He could feel its immediate acceptance of him as he moved to the back rooms to see his lab area. The rooms were stark white and stainless steel in contrast to the front and still empty of his equipment, which should be arriving the next day. He preferred to set that up himself.

Draco was quite pleased with the results. He vowed to send the Elf more business as well as increase her payment by another 20 vials of Moonstone potion. He moved further back into the shop to a green door charmed closed by a familiar ward. He easily opened it, sliding through, and ascended the steps to his new home.

_Okay, maybe another 30 vials,_  he thought, whistling lowly at the minimalist but aesthetically pleasing parlor. The furnishings were modern and expensive, sleek and refined without that old-world feel that seemed to suffocate Draco when he was surrounded by it. There was a wireless built in above the floo, and a muggle television set in the corner on a glass shelf. A plush and inviting large white rug occupied the open space at the hearth. Draco couldn’t help kneeling down in the centre of it and sliding down to his belly, threading his fingers through the pile until he was spread like a starfish, snuggling into the softness. It was perfect. After a moment, he rolled over to take in the rest of the room. A slim bookcase lined the East wall, the shopfront, with windows on either side of it. He slowly rose, pulling his wand and moving the bookcase aside to reveal his Pensieve in the recess, surrounded by tiny shelves full of empty vials, waiting to filled with memories.

The bedroom was simple, it was furnished with his heirloom four-poster bed, matching writing desk, and wardrobe. They were the only furnishings he had kept from the manor- because of his Godfather and Mother’s protection, his rooms were kept untarnished by the Dark Lord, and he held the memories of his sanctuary during the Occupation dearly. It was a feeling of coming home, something inexplicable, something he hadn’t anticipated. It was the safest he had felt in years- a bubble around him- he hadn’t even braved the streets of Diagon Alley yet, it could be an absolute shitstorm. But for the moment, it was peace and quiet. Draco threw himself on the bed, kicked off his shoes, twisted the duvet around himself, and fell into a deep slumber.

********

Draco snorted and sat up. The sun was low in the sky as it peeked through his curtained windows. He sat very still, waiting for the sound that woke him to come again.   
The chime of the floo sounded again.

Draco blinked in confusion. He hadn’t even been here for a full day. How could anyone have his floo address?

He spelled his hair back in place and straightened himself before kneeling again on the luxurious rug to answer.

“Draco, darling, you absolute shit, you answer me right now!”

Draco grinned, recognizing Pansy Parkinson’s shrill voice anywhere. He opened the floo and moved so she could step out onto the rug.

Pansy looked around and sucked in a breath. “Very nice, dear, why are you on the floor and not getting me a drink?”

Draco laughed and stretched out on his side, looking up at her indulgently.

“Get yourself a drink, Pans, but you’ll have to do it elsewhere, seeing as I haven’t stocked up the shelves yet.”

“What? That’s obviously the first thing you do when settling into a new place not…” She gave him a once-over. “No, Draco, did you take a nap? You’ve wrinkled your waistcoat, come here.”

She reached a hand out to pull him up and he smirked, pulling her down onto the carpet.

“Hey! Blast it, Draco, do you have any idea how-” She patted the rug. “What is this? It’s simply wonderful.”

Soon they were lying side by side, chatting idly about the weather, the latest gossip, and plans for dinner. Pansy wasn’t going to be in town but for the night, she had a gala in Paris the following day. Draco was grateful for her company, even if all she did was complain. Her presence was particularly appreciated considering she was very busy running a small French publication and freelancing for  _The Daily Profit_. Her reports of London when she visited him were often not welcome though, and Draco had been known to silence her and even threaten to hex her when she would slyly turn the conversation toward a certain green-eyed Savior of the Wizarding World. It’s not that he  _cared_  so much about what Harry Potter was doing with his life, it was that he didn’t need Pansy’s endless teasing and suggestive remarks.  _So what_  if he  _used to be_  a  _tiny bit_  obsessive about the bespeckled git. But that was  _years_  ago, and he was  _totally_  over that nonsense, and besides…   
He realized belatedly how defensive he was sounding in his own mind. And Pansy had said his name twice.

“Draco?” she drawled a third time, rolling to look at him, eyebrow arched delicately over carefully applied and blended eyeshadow. “Where are you, darling? I was just telling you about Blaise’s new wench and you’re miles away.”

“Just thinking about what I’m wearing to dinner.” He stood, starting to unbutton his waistcoat and heading to his wardrobe. Pansy stretched on the rug like a cat and pointed the toe of an extremely high heel in his direction.

“Wear the dark blue on blue bespoke, darling,” she winked, “I want you to compliment my new Ferragamos.”

He smirked back at her before dropping his trousers and levitating them to drape over his desk chair. His wardrobe doors opened, the racks sliding out smoothly, his suits swinging gently. He  _Accio’d_  the blue Armani and his matching navy shoes, hitting them with a refreshing spell, and a gentle spritz of a home brewed cologne that Pansy said was ‘pants-dropping’ and dressed quickly. Their reservation was for 8 o’clock, and if they were even one minute late, they would lose it. Momo was a very exclusive wizard/muggle fine dining restaurant. Pansy knew the family well, but even that wouldn’t keep them from getting bumped from the reserved table to the bar. Draco would never hear the end of it if Pansy would have to climb a barstool and let her legs dangle from such a height. Poor dear was barely tall enough to reach the bar without the shoes, and she was not fond of swinging her legs like a first year on the train on the way to school. He straightened his tie and smoothed his trembling hands over the jacket. He had many reasons to be nervous, but being out in muggle London was substantially safer than wizarding London.

Pansy came in behind him, a glass of wine in hand, nodding appreciatively.

“Nice, love it, let’s go.”

“Where’d the wine come from?” He wasn’t surprised she had found it, he thought he just might need a drink before leaving.

“I just mumbled aloud that I needed a drink and a panel in the wall slid to the side and a fully-stocked bar appeared!”

Draco grinned, moving to get himself a glass of Merlot that had been left out to breathe. “Flipsy really thought of everything. I really need to get the word around about her skills.”

“It seems so odd having to actually  _pay_  for a House Elf’s services.” Pansy wrinkled her nose. She looked at the glass in her hand thoughtfully. “However, the autonomy has done wonders for their ingenuity, so I say  _Viva la Revolution!_ ” She raised her glass to clink Draco’s. “Next article I write will be a flattering review of this flat, Draco, I hope you don’t mind. I think more wizards would get on board with Elves’ rights if they saw the benefits.”

“You sound like a bloody Gryffindor, Pans,” Draco teased, “Careful with all that compassion, people will think you’re losing your touch.”

She rolled her eyes and plucked the half-empty glass from his hand and set it down. Then she gripped his arm and pulled him to the floo.

********

Draco’s alarm went off several minutes after he awoke. His routine had finally been established enough that his circadian rhythm had adjusted itself and he had begun to feel settled. It had been three months since he had opened the shop’s doors, and  _DM Potions_  had become quite profitable quite quickly. Pansy dropping his name in an article in the society pages of the  _Profit_  had helped announce his return in a positive light. Her article not only reduced the number of dirty looks he got on the street, but also made a nice ice-breaker at the few wizard gay clubs in the city. It seemed most were willing to put the past behind them, which was a relief to Draco, but there were a few wizards he picked up who just wanted to get a peek at his Dark Mark, fetishizing it. Nothing made Draco limp quicker than the adoration of the biggest mistake he’d ever made, so in the end, his encounters were mostly done in the dark corners of a club or in the loo, not ideal, but he was far from looking for romance; he had more important work to do.

By the time he arrived down the stairs he was clad in his white lab robes. Angelica Burke, a great grandniece of Caractacus Burke, one of the original owners of Borgin and Burke’s, was already stationed at her post, coffee made, ambient music playing, and nose buried in a tattered copy of  _Witch Weekly_.

“Morning, Mr. Malfoy,” she chimed, without looking up, “Fancy a cuppa?”

“No thank you, Angelica.” He had already given up his inadvisable attempt at helping her refine her manners; her pureblood status wasn’t an assurance of excellent deportment and grace. Her parents had died in the war (two of many who dared fail the Dark Lord at a simple but impossible task), and she had been raised in her second cousin’s halfblood household. Her hair was cut in a short blonde bob and she wore one too many pairs of Lovegood’s original earrings, but her clothing was always stylish and neat- usually in the muggle-popular trend known as ‘goth’. Fortunately, her goth ensembles leaned toward long, lacy, and high-collared robes, which was easily mistaken by elder wizards and witches as vintage dress robes, so Draco allowed it. The black lipstick was something else altogether- Pansy had whined about the youth of London and fashion for nearly an hour after meeting her. But he liked Angelica immediately when she came to interview for the job; her sunny attitude and mastery of sarcasm made her able to handle all sorts of customers- tetchy housewives hounding her for their monthly sedative potions, elder purebloods with their noses in the air, or even young troublemakers thinking they could steal something or harass his shop. She was invaluable to him.

Sighing, he made his way back to his lab. Everything was in order, everything in its place. It was shiny and smelled faintly of cleaning spells. He checked the list of prescriptions due for the week and saw that each had already been filled. Then he checked his stock of standard potions- Dreamless Sleep, Skele-gro, Pepper-up, and the like. He found his stock satisfactory, and went to the vast cupboards of ingredients and smiled to himself. Today day would be a good day to brew.

Draco stood at the bench mixing a potion. Carefully stirring a glass rod counterclockwise at 120 rotations per minute for 3 minutes, he allowed his mind to wander as he was relaxed and familiar with the base of a new experiment he had been working on. It was still a few hours until he took tea; at exactly one o’clock, he left the shop and walked through Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. He’d have a late lunch, a cup of tea, perhaps read the  _Profit_  if they weren’t being too preachy, or the  _Quibbler_ , if they weren’t being too weird, and relax for an hour. Then at two on the dot, he paid his bill and returned to the shop to complete the second half of the day. Angelica worked until four and he minded the counter himself until closing at six. He insisted on personally working the counter because staying in touch with his customers was important to him, as was staying visible in the community. Knockturn Alley was no longer just a dank hidey-hole of Dark magic, it was now home to legitimate businesses that worked in the Dark Arts (not all that is Dark is evil), as well as antiques and curse-breakers, and of course his potions shop.

On weekdays, after closing the doors and straightening the shop for the next day, he’d retire to his flat, cook a light supper, and settle in for the night, usually reading or watching the telly. Weekends meant going to a club and trying to pull, but that was part of the routine as well. Everything was level, all was in its place, and nothing was a surprise.

And he was so dreadfully bored he felt like screaming.

********

Draco’s break for tea came late that day.

It was nearly two thirty by the time he headed to the Leaky Cauldron, smile on his face and hope in his heart. He had just had a session with a young witch who was suffering from depression and post-traumatic stress. She was intelligent and interested in helping him test his new variant of Dreamless Sleep. It was made of all non-addictive ingredients, but he needed to know how effective it was using it for more than a few nights in a row. She was more than willing- after kicking a Dreamless Sleep addiction, she suffered from insomnia, and was miserable.

It was because of his good mood that Draco didn’t notice Harry Potter seated in the back, reading and sipping tea. Hannah Abbott, having taken over ownership from Tom some years ago, seated Draco and took his order. That was when he finally noticed him.

Draco’s heart first seemed to stutter slightly and then it started pounding. A cold sweat broke out across his back, and his hands trembled. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, using techniques his mind-healer taught him to prevent a panic attack.

_I am here in my body, it is now not then, I am who I am, not who I was._

He opened his eyes and took a long look at his former foe.

Potter looked much the same as the last time Draco saw him. He had been leaving the courtroom, having just testified on behalf of the Malfoys, and he never even shot a look in Draco’s direction. His clothing seemed to hang on his frame, too skinny as always, and his hair was messy and glasses round. Today, he looked no different, same glasses even. Draco nearly cried out an incredulous,  _what?_  But he managed to reel it back and stare, dazed, at the exact antithesis of the Harry Potter of his mind.

That Potter was wealthy and famous, still the Ministry’s Golden Boy, married to the Weaslette, a swath of children who looked just like him, and paparazzi following him around. Dressed to the nines in all the designer labels, and cutting the ribbon on new orphanages and foundations for this or that. Not this broken-looking skinny man who looked as if a shower and a nap would barely dent the exhaustion he wore around him like a cloak. It was more than disturbing.

He had to go say something.

What the devil would he even say to him? ‘Good to see you Potter, you ever planning to give back my wand, are you free for dinner, fancy going back to my place for a shag?’ Ridiculous! He’d spent the last five years avoiding hearing any word about the wizard, the last thing he needed now was to confront him with a confused swirl of questions.

He realized he was halfway to Potter’s table without meaning to be. He thought to turn back, but Potter had seen him, tilting his head and regarding Draco warily, no surprise. Of course he knew Draco was back, everyone read the  _Profit_ , and the gossip mills did what they did.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco said, heart pounding, trying for casual, “how have you been?”

Potter looked back at him in, pursing his lips. “Malfoy, I just saw you last week, what are you on about?”

Draco blushed at Potter’s tone, and it took a second for his brain to catch up with the present.

“Last week? I’m sorry, did I miss you at the shop?”

Potter narrowed his eyes and nearly growled back. “I don’t have time for your shit,  _Malfoy_ ,” he spat, “I’m very busy these days, and aren’t you supposed to be on the way to France or something? Much like a rat leaving a sinking ship?”

Draco’s felt his face fall into his old default setting: cold and sneering. “Sorry for disturbing your lunch, oh Great Savior, didn’t mean to disrupt your obvious trip around the bend. Allow me to take my leave of you, so your hoards of fans can get your autograph.” He waved an arm around the nearly empty pub. “ _Obviously_ , they’re falling over themselves to get near the Golden Boy.”

Potter suddenly looked ill. “Are there people really out there?” His tone changed so drastically, Draco wondered for a moment if he’d imagined it.   
“Are you okay, Potter? You look positively-”

A gentle hand landed on Draco’s shoulder from behind. He turned and blinked into the eyes of Hermione Granger, a smile on her lips, but a warning in her eyes.  
“Why hello Malfoy,” she intoned cheerily, eyes hardening, “would you care to join me for a moment at the bar?” He nodded dumbly. If anyone knew what was wrong with Potter, it would be Granger.

“I’ll just be a moment, Harry,” she smiled at Potter and practically dragged Draco across the room.

“Ouch, you’re pinching me!” Draco whispered furiously. “I can walk on my own, you know.”

Granger sighed when they reached their destination and turned back toward Potter. Weasley had arrived as well (typical- can’t have one without the other two thirds of the Golden Trio), and had made a beeline to Potter, stepping in the way of his glare locked on Draco.

“What the bloody hell is happening here?” He felt the closest to losing his temper in years- he composed himself quickly and turned to Hannah. She had a firewhiskey at the ready, and he took it gratefully, drinking it quickly.

Hannah Abbott had been wonderful to Draco in the last few months since he had returned to London. Not only had she treated him well the first time he walked into the Leaky Cauldron, she had been a good sounding board sometimes and was always quick to comfort with drink or good food. Her mince pies were things of legend and she always seemed to have fresh fruit on hand, even in the winter. He looked at her now, not sure where to start.

Granger came to the rescue, thankfully.

“Harry’s not been well.”

“Well, I can see that,” Draco snorted, putting his glass where Hannah could pour another. “He looks like he lost ten rounds with a hippogriff. What’s wrong with him?”

Hermione frowned deeply, but didn’t contradict him.

“Harry has experienced some sort of retrograde amnesia, and we aren’t exactly sure what caused it.”

“Amnesia? How much has he lost?”

Granger and Hannah exchanged a look.

“He thinks it’s October of 1998.”

Draco gaped at her. That was simply not possible. He had heard of people losing periods of time, but never had heard of someone stuck in a particular time.

“Well, that’s absurd.”

Hannah sighed. “But true nonetheless. He comes in every day and orders lunch at 2:30, eats, reads the same book, and disappears. It’s usually the same meal too, though I’m not sure he eats much at home.”

Granger was nodding. “Yes, Kreacher makes sure he eats at least one other time a day, but Harry is so stubborn when he wants to be, it’s hard to keep him still enough to eat.”  
Hannah hummed. “Every day when he comes in, he asks where Tom is, and I just say I’m subbing for him while he’s on vacation, though I bought the pub three years ago. It was like I inherited  _him_  from Tom.”

Draco just stared. “How can you be so casual about this! What the fuck, Granger??”

Hermione hushed him. “Language, please,” she admonished, “I’d assumed you knew about his stint in St. Mungo’s a few years back. The  _Prophet_  went on and on about it for the longest time. They basically leave him alone now, though it might be more out of pity. If it weren’t for Pansy, they’d probably be hounding him constantly.”  
Draco felt like he had walked into some alternate universe, or maybe it was him that had gone mad and the rest of them were just fine.

“Wait, wait, wait…” He held his hands up in protest. Both witches turned to him, eyebrows raised. It was almost too much, and Draco fought the urge to just walk out and never come back.

“So you know Pansy?” He asked after a long pause, trying to gather his thoughts.

Hermione looked confused. “Yes…” she cocked her head. “Oh yes, I guess you may not know that, since you’ve just returned. Pansy basically is the power behind the power at the  _Prophet_ , and I don’t even want to know what she has on the Chief Editor to keep him in line... But anyhow, what she says goes, and after inviting Pansy to lunch to see for herself, she swore to keep Harry’s condition out of the papers. It was quite big of her. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it, I thought the two of you were best friends?”

Draco’s eye twitched. That sneaky trollop! How dare she…   
But no, it wasn’t Pansy’s fault. His vehement insistence of keeping Potter out of his life for the past years meant a huge loss of information.

He straightened himself up and sniffed, a mere shadow of his former composure. But he had to know.

“So Potter thinks I’m on my way to France. He believes he saw me earlier in the month?”

Hannah nodded. “Hmm. Yeah, poor sod. I know it had been fucking confusing for him. You look very different. Quite excellent, really,” she smirked at him.

“Down girl,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Draco doesn't swing that way. Besides, wasn’t marriage supposed to tame you a bit?”

Hannah laughed and said something else, but Draco was lost in thought. He needed more information. He had to get over to the  _Prophet_  and go through their archives and see what the public knew. He had to grill Pansy. What had happened? Was it war trauma so great that he was suspended in time? He seemed to have his faculties about him. He was able to place who Draco was, and even knew about moving to France-

_Like a rat leaving a sinking ship?_

What the fuck did that even mean?  _Of course_  Draco left England. There was no place for his family there, only pain and misery. What exactly was the sinking ship? There was something niggling at the back of his mind he couldn’t quite place. Obviously the rat comment was about his testimony about the remaining Death Eaters and possible safe houses. But that was supposed to be a good thing, right? It helped the Aurors in the end to find the remaining Dark Lord zealots and lock them up. Father had lost his sanity and was of little help, so his few remaining days were spent in Azkaban. Was that the sinking ship? He needed to get out of there.

“Is he here every day?” He suddenly spoke up, startling the witches who were deep in conversation.

Hannah nodded, a slight smirk on her face. “Mostly. He comes at 2:15 every day, stays to eat, and leaves. He’s missed only a few days in several years. Why, you thinking of stalking him?”

Draco stuttered. “No, I assume if you read the article Pansy published, you’d know that I’m not only dealing in potions, but I’m researching alternatives to the antiquated treatments used in cases of mental health. I’m merely interested on an academic level. I would like to watch him in interest of a case study.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “I did read something about that. And that paper you published in  _Wizard Psychology Today._

“You read that?” Draco was surprised- it was a fairly small publication.

“Yes, and I found it very interesting. Your theories on using talk therapy mixed with work on the magical core through potions and behavioral practise is fascinating.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride being complimented by the only student in his year who could best his scores. “Thank you, Granger.” He said, flushing slightly. The day kept getting more odd by the moment. But he supposed that was the norm when it came to Potter.

“Please, I think we’re long past formal names, and besides, it’s Granger-Weasley. Call me Hermione.”

“Alright,” Draco blinked, trying to process what was happening. “Wait, you’re married? How did Potter attend the wedding?”

“Well, at times we intervene and explain what has happened to him. Sometimes it just takes a simple ‘spell damage’ explanation. He buys it, and he can relax for the event.”

“Why don’t you do it every day?”

“We tried.” Hermione looked tired and guilty. “But it became really hard to do with job, family… It is a losing battle, and allowing him to settle into his routine seems to be when he’s the most balanced.”

Draco had so many questions. It was a bit overwhelming. And of course all he could ask was, “What do you tell him about the weather?”

Hannah chuckled. “Actually, that’s a conversation I have with him almost daily. He believes it’s October 30th, so when it’s either too hot or too cold for October, we say ‘what odd weather we have now because of Global Warming.’ It seems to do the trick. Sometimes I wonder if some things don’t just stick in his brain somewhere so it makes it easier for him to believe things.”

Draco nodded, biting his lip. “Yes, perhaps. Why do you think the 30th of October?”

Hermione looked sad. “It’s the day before the anniversary of Voldemort killing his Parents. He talks about his plans to visit their grave the next day, but of course, the next day never comes.”

“And he just doesn’t notice the leaves on the trees or Christmas decorations, or anything?”

“We think he just doesn’t  _want_  to notice them. He has the path he takes, and he doesn’t look beyond that. We keep an eye out, well, us and Kreacher, and the best we can do is keep him safe and watch for changes.”

He needed to leave and think. “Hermione, Hannah, I was lovely to see you, thank you for explaining the...situation with Po- Harry.” It felt odd in his mouth. Softer. More intimate.

He left the shop with a lot on his mind. It was possible he could learn a lot from this as a case study, and help Potter in the process.

And maybe get his old wand back.

It wasn’t that the wand Draco had made in France wasn’t good enough, it just wasn’t...right. He would find himself longing for the unicorn core magic during brewing. The purity of the unicorn hair made delicate potions easier to create, where as, his elm and dragon heartstring was more forceful.

Draco wanted it back very badly.

********

The next day found Draco stalling before leaving to get tea. He busied himself with reorganizing the shop, but Angelica began to get suspicious.

“Mr. Malfoy, aren’t you going to leave for lunch?” She stood in the doorway, crossing her arms over her crushed velvet black laced corset. Her eyes were lined to a peak at the corners, giving her a cat-like appearance.

“Angelica, not that it’s any of your concern, but I will take my lunch today at 2.”

“That wouldn’t have to do with that being the same time Harry Potter is there every day?”

He spun to her smirking face, hiding his surprise behind an indifferent mask. “Is it common knowledge that he dines there the same time every day?” He didn’t bother to hide his intention- Angelica’s taunting would be worse if he denied it.

“It is. He’s been doing it for years. I heard you and he had quite the thing for each other in school.”

He snorted inelegantly. “Is that what the kids call ‘pure unadulterated hate’ these day?”

“From what I hear there was a lot more going on there. Didn’t you save his life?”

Draco flashed back to the Manor, Harry’s puffy face inches from his, eyes pleading. His heart rate sped up and a fine sweat broke out on his brow. Not the time.

“Well, yes, but he returned the favor soon after, so we’re even. Don’t you have some sort of responsibilities here? Why is it I pay you again?”

She grinned. “For my scintillating personality and stimulating company, of course.” She turned and flounced out of the room.

He smirked. “Of course,” he called after her retreating back. He checked the time, removed his lab robes and hung them neatly on the hook by the door. Smoothing down the front of his dove-gray waistcoat, he pulled on his jacket and straightened his lavender tie. Saying a quick almost embarrassed farewell to Angelica, he made his way to Diagon.   
He thought over his strategy. He would arrive early, about 2pm, eat so he could focus on Potter, and simply observe until he left.

Hannah was behind the bar, as usual, and she tipped him a knowing smile and started his tea. He took a table near the back, but far enough away to be able to see where Harry would be seated. Hannah soon levitated his lunch to him- pastrami on rye and a green salad- and left him to his devices.

At about 2:15, Harry Potter walked in. He took his seat, greeted Hannah, exchanged pleasantries with her (Draco heard ‘strange weather’ and ‘is Tom sick?’), and open his book and begin to read. It was hard to make out the title, so Draco cast a quick charm to see at that distance.  _A Timeless Love,_  by Kairos Black. Draco had never heard of it, but it sounded like a trashy romance novel written by a relative of Draco’s. He supposed it made sense; Harry was living in the remnants of the Black family home, there was bound to be shelves and shelves of tomes in there. He wondered if it was the same book every day.

Harry sat quietly and sipped his tea.

Draco simply sat, watched his subject, observed and took notes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the most famous wizard in history was just having lunch, no big deal. After finishing a small mince pie, Potter remained for another 20 minutes, leafing through the book, not settling on any particular page, and finally stood to leave. Potter made his way to the bar, passed Hannah with a goodbye, and headed to the floo. Draco kept his distance, staying behind a column, and listened for his destination.

Harry scooped a handful of powder. “12 Grimmauld Place!” he said loudly, disappearing in a swath of green flames.

Draco nodded at Hannah and stood by the floo. Should he follow? He very well couldn’t come bursting through Potter’s floo, besides, the wards were probably up. He could apparate there, but he was unsure of the location. He would have to contact Mother for the address through the floo, but he was in no mood to be given the third degree about this strange encounter with Potter.

Eventually he sighed. He guessed it was enough for the day and he could head back to the shop. He did have responsibilities, after all.

The walk back seemed quicker than usual. Facing his storefront, he hesitated. Angelica was tending to an elderly witch, showing her the written instructions that had been sent by her healer. Draco watched, his eyes wandering, taking in everything. The clean lines, the inviting waiting area, the professional atmosphere.

And above it, his home. It was hard to believe Potter didn’t have this. Not a Potions Shop, of course, but a present. Something he had worked for. Something that proved he had moved on in life, moved forward. Proof that life meant change, and that he could change, be  _more._

Draco released a heavy sigh, his thoughts turning melancholy. Potter had missed so much of his own life. He’d only just discovered the wizarding world at 11, then to be frozen in time only seven years later? It was unfair. He couldn’t imagine the depth of Potter’s day-to-day loneliness. How was he able to exist on just one day out of the last five years?

**********

Gathering his courage, Draco stood and slowly approached Potter’s table. He wasn’t sure how to act. He didn’t want another episode like a couple days before and he wanted to appear non-threatening.

He cleared his throat.

Potter’s head snapped up, his green eyes zeroing in on Draco’s, leaving him feeling exposed.

“Good day, Harry, I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

Potter jerked at his given name being used, but motioned to the empty chair across from him seemingly as a reflex.

“Malfoy. Er, hello. Sure, have a seat. What are… I mean, er-”

“What am I doing here and not in France and why have I just politely asked to sit with you?” Draco finished for him.

Harry bit his plush lower lip and nodded. His eyes were locked on Draco’s still and he waited, a tension building between them. Draco had to fight the urge to mumble a ‘never mind’ and apparate to Australia.

Draco sat, resting his hands together on the table, trying to stay non-threatening. He noticed Harry’s hand had moved under the table to his wand.

“What would you think if I told you that I’ve been in France for 5 years and have just gotten back?”

“I’d say you’re delusional and might need to be locked up for your own safety,” Harry shot back bluntly.

Draco smiled wryly at Harry’s choice of words. “Harry, I’ve not gone mad, I’ve come to tell you something. Something that might help. I don’t know. Just listen for a moment, and if you believe I’m lying, you may call Granger or Weasley to verify.”

Harry’s brow was furrowed and his breathing increased. Draco recognized the fight-or-flight response on Harry as if it were just yesterday that they were hexing each other in the halls of Hogwarts, or sitting on the floor of the Manor-

Draco kept in mind, that to Potter, it really was like yesterday.

“Harry, I promise I’m here to do no harm-”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Potter asked, eyebrow up.

“Saying what?”

“My. First. Name.” Potter said slowly, as if talking to a toddler.

Draco fought the urge to sneer, it just felt so natural in the circumstances.

“Ok, would you rather me call you scarhead?” Draco smirked, trying for humor, and realizing a second too late that it might be a mistake.

To his surprise, Harry laughed. “Okay, that’s a little more familiar territory, you were starting to freak me out there, Malfoy. What can I do for you?” Potter sipped his tea like it was the most natural thing in the world to be sitting with his ex-nemesis being called childish names.

“Well, it may be what I can do for you.” Draco guessed that considering their past relationship was a  _present_  relationship to Potter, he should be clear as possible.

“Let me be blunt. Five years ago, it was discovered that you had somehow been stuck in a time-loop of sorts. Spell Damage at Mungo’s couldn’t figure it out, neither could Granger, nor anyone else who tried. You have believed it is 30 October, 1998 every day since then.”

Harry just sat there with a smirk, not believing a word. “Okay, so if that’s true, why is it  _you’re_  telling me, and not one of my friends?”

Draco cringed. He still had some feelings about Potter and rejected friendship, but now was not the time to delve into that. This was about Harry.

“I assure you, this is not the first choice. There have been many attempts to snap you out of it over the years, and I’m sort of a...last resort. I’m back from my 5 years of probation abroad with Mother, and I’ve finished my Potions Mastery, and I’m specializing on research of using muggle psychological techniques combined with mind healing potions to aid war survivors in recovering from trauma.”

Potter sat with his mouth open and blinked. “Well, that certainly was elaborate. You? Study muggle techniques? Sure. And I’m studying kneazle breeding. Go away, Malfoy, this isn’t funny.”

“Look, I’m not-” Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the tension seep from his shoulders.  _You are not who you were._

He opened his eyes to Harry studying him intently. Draco’s shoulders sagged.

“Draco,” Potter said slowly, “why do you look so… well?”

Draco blushed at the use of his given name. It was strange to hear from  _that_  voice.

“I feel well, I suppose?”

“No, I mean, are you using glammors, or some sort of weight-gaining potion? Because you were thin as a rail…” His voice trailed and he rubbed his chin. Draco could see why Hermione was exhausted with trying to convince Harry of the truth over and over.  _Merlin,_  he was stubborn.

“It’s been five years. When you wake tomorrow, none of this will have taken place, in your memory anyway, and you begin 30 October all over again. But time will pass, and it will pass you by.”

That may have been a little harsh, but he needed to see reality if they were to make any progress that day.

Potter stood quickly and stalked to the bar, suspiciously glancing back at Draco while he whispered to Hannah. She gave him a fond look and a patted on the arm, nodding and saying something that had Harry’s eyes widening.  _Oh good._

Harry came back slowly, in a bit of a daze. He sat, sort of staring into space.

“Would you like to floo Weasley?”

“The Weasel.”

Draco raised a brow. “What?”

“You call him the Weasel, and he calls you Ferret.”

“Yes. I’m sure he does. Now do you need to floo-”

“I believe you.”

Draco blinked. “Oh. good.”

They sat there staring at one another, Draco realizing he hadn’t thought he was going to get that far, so he hadn’t really planned ahead.

“Would you like to see my potions shop?” he blurted out.

“Er, sure, where is it?” Harry looked doubtful.

“In Knockturn. They’ve renovated much of it since the war. It’s actually quite lovely.” Draco felt like he was babbling as they stood and made their way to the door. Hannah looked at Draco and he shrugged. He was winging it. She returned the gesture and gave him a thumbs-up.

Walking side by side with Potter was strange. He was very aware of the distance between their wrists as they swung, and their shoulders nearly brushing.

“What is it you’re reading?” Draco asked casually.

Potter looked down at the book clutched in the crook of his arm. “Oh, this, yeah, I think your great, great, great grandfather wrote this, but I can’t really understand it. I found it in the library yesterday-”

Harry stopped walking. “Holy fucking fuck, have I been reading the same dumb, soppy, love story for  _five fucking years_???”

Draco didn’t know how to respond. Harry started shaking a bit. Draco recognized the signs of a panic attack and acted quickly. He grabbed Harry’s shoulders and stared him dead in the eye.

“Potter. You are here right now. The ground is under your feet, the air is plentiful in your lungs, you can hear the sounds of the city, and if you stop for a moment, you’ll realize that this is far from the weirdest  _or_  worst thing that has ever happened to you.”

Harry blinked and his breathing slowed. As Draco watched, his pupils relaxed from their constriction, his muscles loosened under Draco’s fingers, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“It may top the weird, to be honest,” he said, his smile turning into a smirk. Draco came to himself and released Harry’s shoulders.   
He missed the feel of the black worn leather jacket under them immediately.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Draco replied casually, trying to hide a blush working up his neck. They continued the short walk. “There, see? Borgin and Burkes. Gone. Scarr’s Tattoo shop, gone. Cobb and Webb’s… many others. Ah, here we are.”

They stopped in front of  _DM Potions_  and Draco tried his best not to look like a proud papa. The shop was his life’s work and meant so much to him.

“Seriously?” Harry said looking up, his eyes roving the architecture. “This is really… well, it’s posh. I mean, it’s really you- okay I mean…” Potter flushed and looked away.

“What I mean, is it compliments you, Draco.”

Draco wondered how it was so easy for Harry to just starting calling him that.

“I worked very hard to get where I am. I appreciate you coming to see it. I, um.” Draco once again hadn’t thought past that point. A wild hysterical part of him wanted to ask Harry up for coffee.  _Salazar, no, shut it._  “I live in the flat above,” Apparently Draco’s brain was running on autopilot that day.

“Really,” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, a smile sneaking onto his face. “Oh, I see now, you’re bringing me back here for a shag. Well, okay. I’ve got nothing on today, since I have no idea what day of the month it is, or even what month it is, so might as well make the most of it.”

“Wha-” Draco turned bright red and blood rushed south at the suggestion.

Potter burst out laughing. “Oh, you should see you face, it’s brilliant. I’m just joking! Come on, lighten up.”

Draco forced out a chuckle or two, feeling guilty for being relieved that Harry wouldn’t remember it the next day. “Of course, hilarious. Anyway, I do have to get back to work, I suppose. You can use the floo or-?”

Harry looked confused. “I thought you said something about helping me. Were you just coming to rub your success in my face and gloat that I’ve basically done nothing with my life for 5 years? Is that it?”

Draco floundered. “No! No, not at all...I’m just. Look, I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but I’m openly gay and if that makes you uncomfortable, we should just part ways now-”

“Oh, because the joke?” Harry took a step closer, face turning earnest. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t being homophobic, I just, you know, say stupid things when I’m nervous. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you.” Draco said a little curtly.

“What’s it like?” Harry asked after a short silence.

“Are you seriously asking me what it’s like to be gay?” Draco asked flatly.

“No! No, fuck, I meant what’s it like to be  _openly_  gay. You know, out. What’s that like?” Harry’s face blushed red under his lightly tanned skin. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Freeing, I suppose. I don’t have to hide anything. It has just become a fact about me. Like being right-handed or being allergic to strawberries. It’s part of who I am.”

“Don’t you worry people will judge you?”

Draco held up his left arm. “Ex-Death Eater, remember? They hate me already, so not much to lose.” He wondered where Harry was going with the questions.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. That was not at all what he expected. Maybe Potter would say something about being bi-curious, or something, but that was forward. Harry had a determined look in his eyes and Draco found himself unlocking the outside door and opening the wards to let Harry in.

As they walked up the stairs, Draco wondered what the  _fuck_  was he doing, and he lead his childhood rival to his living room. Potter kicked off his shoes and sank down into the feel the white rug. Draco stayed rooted to a spot near the door, watching as Potter ran his fingers through the wispy soft fibers.

“Oh this is bloody brilliant, it’s so soft. You want to fuck me on it?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. He stood there gaping, wondering again if maybe he’d been the one to go mad. “Is that another joke?” he asked tentatively.

Harry laughed and stretched out on the floor, his tan skin contrasting with the white and making his green eyes seem more clear. His t-shirt lifted slightly, showing the edge of his boxers and a smooth strip of skin. Harry shook his head no and held a hand out to Draco.

“Nope. Come on. Don’t worry about it, I won’t remember tomorrow, so you could be absolutely awful and I’d forget all about it.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned devilishly.

Draco wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and  _fuck_ , motherfucking  _Harry Potter_  was laid out like a buffet on the soft rug. Draco was just standing there like an idiot with his dick half-hard in his trousers.

Draco knelt down, Harry surging up to meet his mouth halfway. The kiss was bruising and Harry sucked and bit, making Draco shiver and growl. He pushed Harry back flat, taking off the famous round glasses, and pulled up his shirt, attacking his flat stomach with bites and kisses.

Harry laughed and moaned. “Yeah, like that,  _fuck_ , we’re finally doing this. I can’t believe it took so- “

His words were swallowed by Draco’s lips and tongue, and he quickly unbuckled Draco’s belt. A sly hand made it’s way inside Draco’s pants, stroking eager fingers along his hardened shaft, teasing and squeezing.

“Merlin, I can’t wait until you put this in me,” Harry moaned between kisses.

Draco thrust into Harry’s hand and pulled back, grabbing Harry’s jeans and yanking them down, pants and all. His cock popped out, red and swollen, the tip wet and ready.

Draco lost no time in ducking down and swirling his tongue around and picking up the musky fluid, loving the bitter taste. Harry thrust up, calling out, grasping at Draco’s shoulder, moaning for more. Draco took him in his mouth, slowly bobbing and sinking down, deeper at each pass until he had Harry’s cock buried in his throat. He swallowed around it, making Harry gasp above him.

“Not yet, I don’t want to come yet, I need you in me, you hear me  _Draco Malfoy_? You fuck me through this floor.”

Draco shuddered and pulled off with a slurp. He made quick work of the rest of their clothes, leaving his shirt on but opened, keeping the faded mark covered. Harry seemed not to notice or care as he kissed down the pale column of his neck with biting marks. Draco summoned his lube from the bedroom. It landed in his palm and he flipped the cap, pushing Harry’s knees apart at the same time. Harry was pliant, with a lazy smile on his face, pulling his legs higher, exposing his hole to Draco, shamelessly. Draco moaned at how wanton Harry looked on his carpet, and brushed his slick fingertips over the pink pucker, pressing. The first went in a little easier than expected. Harry moaned and spread his legs wider.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, rocking into Draco’s plunging finger, twisting, searching for Harry’s prostate. He found it, delighted when Harry called out his name and begged for another finger. Draco obliged, scissoring his fingers and stretching his hole. He was about to add a third when Harry stopped him with a hand.

“I’m ready now,” Potter gasped, staring intently into his eyes. Draco paused.

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“Don’t worry about that, it’s not my first time, just fuck me, please.”

Draco growled at the thought of Harry doing this with anyone else. He lined up his cock and  _pushed_. It slid in smoothly, tight and hot. Harry moaned, rippling around him. It was so smooth, so velvety as he bottomed out. Harry began thrusting upward, rocking his hips, urging Draco to move. He pulled out, slowly and teasingly, and plunged back in. Harry moved his legs around Draco’s waist, locking his ankles. He held his hands together above his head, tugging at the rug, the picture of perfect sultry confidence, eyes half open, sweat glistening on his chest, his hair a riot against the white, lips kiss-swollen and bitten.

Draco set up a pace, slow and strong, watching Harry’s face closely looking for signs of pain. All he found was the man arching his back in ecstasy and smiling back at him.   
Draco had thought about Potter like this before, how could he not? Even when he was a skinny little git in school, he was powerful and fierce, especially when he paid attention to Draco. He knew without doubt the things he’d done to get the Chosen One’s attention were fuel to the fire; Harry often featured in his wank fantasies. But it was the equivalent of pulling pigtails and he didn’t think much of it after the war. Much.

Harry pulled Draco down into a fiery kiss, his cock trapped between them, slick with spit and sweat. Draco worked a hand between them, shifting so he supported Harry with one knee and braced on one arm. Harry cried when his prostate was brushed against.

“ ‘M close,” he moaned into Draco’s mouth. Doubling his speed and force, Draco pounded into him, bringing himself closer to the edge, stroking Harry in time with his thrusts. Harry lost the kiss and tipped his head back, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream. Draco attached his lips to Harry’s neck and sucked, holding on with his teeth as he felt Harry grip tightly around his cock, rippling in time with the blood pounding in his ears. Come spurted between them, messy but hot, and as Harry began to relax, Draco felt himself teeter over the edge, mind clear and quiet for once. It was as if that perfect blank moment, that tiny increment of release held some secret, some eternal truth. However, as usual, when he started to come down from the high of his orgasm, his understanding would escape him and he would drift, wondering what it was inside of the exact moment of bliss.

He collapsed on top of Harry, but instead of being pushed off, Harry wrapped his legs tighter around Draco’s waist and his arms around his back, holding him there for a moment, the sticky evidence of their coupling between them. Usually it was something Draco would be grossed out by, but right then it seemed important, necessary. He buried his face into Harry’s neck, still panting, breathing in the musk, sweat, sandalwood scent of Potter. It brought him back, that smell, because it was one he could place in so many different times in his life: standing with his outstretched hand, being refused friendship, toe-to-toe in a classroom or the hall, breathing each other’s air, static like lightening between them, face-to-face on the floor of the manor, tightly wrapped around him on a broom, terrified and lungs full of smoke, but that scent held safety, held hope-

Dear Merlin and Morgana, what the fuck did he just do?

Slowly, Harry loosened his grip, allowing Draco to prop up on his forearms, still only inches from Potter’s face. He looked back up, his eyes sharp, focused.

“So, I might as well tell you I’m not straight,” Harry broke into a shit-eating grin.

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile back. He rolled off, and looked around for his pants. He ended up summoning them out of sheer exhaust, and he had to stop himself from stuffing Potter’s pants under the rug for later contemplation. Harry looked like he knew exactly what Draco was thinking and he stretched himself like a cat, swinging the blue boxers around on one finger, his body on shameless display.

Draco bit his lip. “So, you’ve known you’re gay, or bi or whatever, you were messing with me before?”

Harry nodded, finally having the decency to dress and hide his tempting skin. Draco would lay on the rug with him for the next week if he could.

“I kind of figured it out when I had a lapful of Ginny and a mind full of the  _Quidditch Quarterly_  men’s calendar. She took it well, but I haven’t really told anyone else…”   
He looked thoughtful. “I actually don’t know if I’ve told anyone else, since apparently I’ve forgotten the last five years.”

Reality came crashing home, the breath getting caught in Draco’s lungs.

“You won’t remember this happened.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I guess that’s how it works? Unless you had some magical cock and fucked my amnesia away.” Harry laughed at his own joke, and Draco chuckled a little, feeling hollow inside.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve been told a lot of good things about my cock, but never heard it could break curses.”

Harry smirked and pulled his shirt back over his head. He looked around the rest of the flat. “This is really nice. Modern. Kreacher had several Elves come last week to help him clean Grimmauld Place, and the difference is almost overwhelming- Oh. I guess that could have happened years ago.” He made a frustrated noise and ran his hand through his hair. Draco tried not to kiss his pouty mouth. “I don’t know if I should be mad at Kreacher or give him a hug. He’s been going along helping me this whole time? I need to thank him, I guess.”

“Certainly don’t hug him. If he’s the same Kreacher that was there when I was a child, I’m pretty sure he’d iron his ears over it.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, I guess so. Well.”

They stood, face to face in front of the floo, the air growing awkward. Draco had no idea what to say. The afternoon had not gone at all like he planned.

And he really didn’t want Harry to leave.

With a shy kiss on the lips that turned into something firmer, until they pulled apart gasping for air, Harry said goodbye and stepped into the floo.

“Draco,” he turned back, “I know this is stupid because I won’t remember it tomorrow, but just so you know, that was fantastic, really fantastic, and if you care to, you should shag future me as much as you can.”

With that, Harry was gone in a swirl of green fire and the flat was silent.


	2. Harry Forgets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco can't stay away, and it seems Harry doesn't want him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got crazy long and out of control, but it's finished and I'll post as the final editing is done. :)

******** 

Draco couldn’t sleep. The moment Harry stepped into his floo and out of his presence, it was like his brain turned back on. Every doubt, the reality of what he had just done, and shame fell into place. 

What if Harry had gone and told Hermione? She would never let him near Harry again. What was going to happen when he saw him the next day? Could Draco stand to put himself in that position again? Would he start to have feelings? There was much too much history between them, there was danger of falling into something he could potentially get hurt from. 

He jumped up, pulling on a dressing gown and grabbing his wand. With a flick of the wrist, the wall slid and his Pensieve floated out. He grabbed an empty vial and unstoppered it. He hesitated.

If he did this, it was admitting that it was something he needed to see again. If he did this, it was a gateway to behavior long forgotten, an obsession that never caused him anything but harm. It had been a one-off, it meant nothing to Potter, in fact, it was less than nothing since he wouldn’t even remember the encounter. 

But Draco would. He could remember how Potter smelled, the exact color of his eyes, how he felt, buried inside him…  
With a sigh, he pulled the memory with the tip of his wand, carefully depositing it into the vial, replacing the stopper. It sat alone on the shelves, a lonely memory, shining brightly, a promise, a taunt. He turned his back, closing his eyes, and waved a hand to close the wall. 

He needed to get some sleep. 

*******

Draco was nearly biting his nails by the time 2pm rolled around. Angelica kept shooting him sidelong looks but remained silent. 

He paced his footsteps, not wanting his apprehension or his eagerness to be visible. The knot in his gut was twisting, and he took a deep breath. The brick wall of the Leaky Cauldron was visible ahead, and he stopped in the middle of the Diagon. There were plenty of shoppers making their way through the street, but Draco noticed none of them as   
he stood, frozen with fear. He couldn’t decide which would be worse, Harry remembering or Harry not remembering. It was stupid to have hope that he _did_ have a magic cock, and Harry would be cured of the curse.

Swallowing the fear, Draco tapped the wall and entered from the Alley into the pub. The familiar smells of lunch and butterbeer were comforting as he made his way to the bar, nodding to Hannah. What if she knew? She simply smiled at him and nodded at the table where Harry already sat. Draco decided to go without preamble and approach right away.

Harry looked up from the book, startled. Draco cleared his throat, wondering why he had come so unprepared. 

“Malfoy?” Potter seemed confused. “Weren’t you leaving for France last month?” 

Draco’s heart sank past his stomach all the way to his shoes. 

“Yeah,” he breathed. He shook himself, stood tall and nodded curtly. “Yes. There was a change of plans. I wished to come tell you. To your face. Er.”

A small smile lit the corner of Harry’s green eyes, he was amused by Draco’s fumbling. Draco blushed and thought quickly.

“I wished to speak to you in person and thank you for what you did for my family during the trials. I am indebted to you. You have saved my life and I owe you. Have you need of anything, please let me know.” He nodded again and spun on his heel, preparing to make a rather undignified and hasty escape back to his shop.

“Malfoy,” Potter was standing, calling him to stop. “Would you like to- er, have lunch? With me?”

Draco’s heart soared and he tried to keep it from showing as he slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Thank you, Potter. I hear the food here is excellent.”

Harry laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, mussing it. Draco’s blood sang with the memory of the stark contrast of Harry’s black hair against the white, fluffy rug. 

“It’s alright.” Harry smiled. “Hannah is in for Tom this week, and I’ll have to admit her cooking is excellent.”

Draco nodded dumbly. There was an uncomfortable silence as he desperately tried to forget the way Harry’s skin felt under his fingertips. _Perfect._

“So…” Harry said, breaking the silence. “What have you decided to do since you aren’t going abroad?” He took a sip of tea, his eyelashes fluttering over the rim of the cup. 

Draco blushed again. He looked at his hands. “I am planning to become a Potions Master.”

“Like Snape.”

Draco nodded, flinching at the mention of his deceased godfather.

“Do you miss him?” 

Draco’s head snapped up. Harry regarded him with innocent eyes.

“Are you serious, Potter? Of course I do. He was my godfather. He was there for me when my father-” he bit his lip and tried to remember how he used to speak to Harry. Definitely not this forthcoming.

“Your father?” Harry prompted. Draco realized that as far as Potter knew, Lucius was still alive, locked up in Azkaban. 

“Yes. Well. My father had rather a lot on his mind during the...Occupation of the Manor. Severus was there for me. He...protected me. From Grayback. And the others. I know he would have done more if he could…”

Draco was flashing back to that night on the tower; Dumbledore’s body falling lifelessly as his aunt’s shrill voice screeched out triumphantly. And the look of ultimate sadness in Severus’ eyes as he held Draco’s arm and pulled him away. His godfather saved his soul that night, and a tiny part of him was grateful that Dumbledore had shown him mercy and forgiveness, even when he didn’t deserve it.

“I saw what he did,” Harry said lowly, “at the tower.”

Again Draco stared. “H-”

“I had been with the Headmaster when you came to the tower. I hid. Dumbledore had me in a body bind under my invisibility cloak. I, er. Saw the whole thing.”

Shame filled Draco, twisting the knot harder in his chest. His breath began to shorten and become rapid. Harry had seen him. Saw the mark. Saw him cry. Saw him at his worst moment in his life. He stood so quickly he hit the table, causing Harry’s tea to slosh over the rim of his cup. 

“I h-have to go,” Draco mumbled as he retreated and stumbled from the pub. He walked quickly down Diagon, trying to look as if he wasn’t about to have a massive panic attack, ducking between two shops and doubled over, gasping for breath. He tried to keep his eyes open; every time he closed them, images of Dumbledore, Professor Burbage, muggle bodies scattered on the dungeon floors, Harry’s limp body in Hagrid’s arms…

Two firm hands gripped his shoulders, holding him up. He fought passively, the lack of oxygen to his lungs making him weak. He slumped, his eyes fluttering shut, thoughts drifting, a warm familiar smell filling his nostrils as he blacked out.

********

Draco blinked his eyes, trying to get his bearings. He was lying down, warm, covered by a blanket. He was inside somewhere, not familiar, but Harry’s smell was intensely strong. 

He must be at Grimmauld Place. 

He groaned and rolled on the couch, seeing a fire burning cheerily in the fireplace. 

“You’re awake.” Harry came into view, a cup of tea in hand and a pepper-up potion in the other. 

Draco sat up, swinging his socked feet to the floor. He sighed. Why did Harry have to be so bloody considerate? 

“You had a panic attack,” he said matter-a-factly. “I brought you here. I hope that’s okay, I didn’t know where you were staying. I know the Manor is still being investigated, so I figured…”

Ah yes. Harry didn’t know the Manor was destroyed. It had absorbed so much dark magic that it was uninhabitable. His mother took the portraits she wished to keep, and most was lost to the occupation anyhow. 

“Thank you, Potter,” he said warily. “I must be going, really, I have to attend to some things.”

“Hannah followed us when you ran out, and she helped me bring you back to the floo. She said she would take care of letting your employer know where you are.”

Draco almost laughed. Angelica would never let him hear the end of it. 

“So you should stay for dinner, since we missed lunch.” Potter looked nonchalant, but there was a nervousness in the air.

Draco found himself nodding, remembering suddenly that all this would be erased from Potter’s mind by morning. 

*******

Kreacher came in the kitchen, washing dishes as Harry cooked. It was odd to see the ancient Elf and Potter bickering at one another. He made a mental note to try and talk to Kreacher before he left. 

Dinner was spaghetti, paired with Elf wine. Draco hadn’t drank it often, it was notoriously strong, but only one glass a piece was served, much to his relief. Harry was polite and they shared light conversation, mostly about how Draco’s mother was doing and the repairs made on Grimmauld Place. 

They moved to the sitting room after the meal, and Harry stood, hands in his pockets, watching as Draco picked up a handful of floo powder. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly.

Draco looked up, trying to keep the hope from his eyes. 

Harry sighed, a sadness flickering across his face, making him look older than he was. “It gets better. I promise.”

Draco blinked, lost for a moment.

“The, er, panic attacks, they get better. Just takes time.”

Draco nodded silently, hope shattered. Harry didn’t remember anything. He longed to reach out to him, pull him in for a hug, but he knew that would be weird for Harry and it would hurt Draco in the morning when it was wiped from Harry’s mind. He threw the powder into the fire, changing it green, and stepped in, calling for his flat. One last glance into Harry’s clear green eyes was a stab to the gut as he was pulled away in a flash of green flames. 

He stumbled into his living room, kneeling onto the white rug, collapsing into the spot where he’d given himself over to Harry, taking in his fading scent, the smell of their mingled arousal, and the harsh memory of Harry leaving him. 

He soon fell asleep.

*******

The month seemed to pass both quickly and slowly at the same time. Draco was making headway with his patient and her trauma. They had tried a new concoction of Draco’s along with Pensieve memory therapy, unravelling some of her worst of the recurring nightmares. She reported that for three nights in a row, she had fallen asleep without potion and she was not awoken by nightmares. It was such a success. She had recommended two acquaintances of hers from a grief group at St. Mungo’s and they signed up to try the new treatments. 

Luna Lovegood walked into his shop soon afterward, in all her radish-earring glory. She offered Draco a meeting with board of the hospital to discuss receiving grant money for his research. Angelica winked at him. He knew she had to be behind Luna’s appearance at the shop and he graciously accepted the invitation, making a note to give the young meddling witch a hefty raise. 

Everything was going well in his life- except, of course, with Harry Potter.

He couldn’t stay away. Like clockwork, he’d go to the pub for lunch, approach Potter carefully, thank him for the millionth time for helping him and Mother, and join him for lunch. Some days he felt like Harry remembered him- present him, and other days he felt the deep sadness Harry carried with him. They kept away from subjects like the war or Voldemort. Harry seemed content to rehash their boyhood rivalry, mostly with a fond smile, making Draco’s insides squirm and flutter. With almost each daily visit, he was amazed at the easy way Harry forgave him, only occasionally was he met with coldness. 

Those days were the worst. 

Harry would regard him as one would regard a nest of spiders, with disdain and suspicion. It broke Draco to be treated that way, causing him to inevitably revert him back to his default coping mechanism of looking down his nose and sneering. 

It was odd that Harry seemed to relax when Draco fell into his old behavior. It was as if the distance was a comfort. The only thing propelled Draco forward was the terrible, horrible hope that Harry might one day remember him. 

Finally, there were the days where Draco would find himself pinned against the wall of Grimmauld, having the life snogged out of him by an equally desperate Harry. 

Sometimes, they would end up in the loo of the Leaky Cauldron, exchanging messy, quick hand jobs, with little explination from Harry about why or how they got there. Hannah would turn a blind eye, smiling knowingly at Draco as he would pay his bill, flushed and disheveled. He asked her once why she didn’t tell Granger or Weasley on him. She simply stated that she was sick and tired of seeing Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, sit in her pub, a shadow of his former self. He had sacrificed everything, including his own mind and if he could have just ten minutes of happiness with Draco, she approved. In fact, she encouraged him not to give up trying to find a way to bring   
Harry back to the present. 

And he _wouldn’t_ give up. Ever.

However, all of these encounters were killing him. It was the closest thing to a real relationship he’d had in a long time. He’d recorded every moment in his Pensieve, trying to find a pattern in Harry’s behavior. Mostly. Sometimes it ended in him wanking himself raw, fighting the despair that would follow, the feeling of failure to do the one thing he desired most; save Harry Potter. 

********

It was a Wednesday when he finally snapped. It was time to do something drastic, and he needed help to pull it off. He had a lot of success with his work with St. Mungo's, much to the delight of Lovegood, and he was ready to approach Harry again. 

Potter was in his usual spot, reading the damn book, pencil in hand, doodling in the margins. He snapped the book shut as Draco approached. He had an odd, expectant look on his face, as if he was waiting for Draco; waiting for their daily amends.

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded cordially.

“Potter.” Draco held in his anxiety and excitement, schooling his face into the practiced mask that he wished Harry could see through.

He sat down, uninvited, and Potter seemed to expect that as well. 

Hermione and Ron were late. 

“I want to say something to you, Potter, if you’ll allow it,” Draco started, aiming for stalling.

Harry seemed to relax into his chair, an eyebrow going up, motioning to go on. Draco ran through the usual spiel, which sometimes ended in a rebuke, sometimes an offer for a shag in the loo, and sometimes a smile of affection that caused Draco the most pain of all.

Today was a soft smile. Draco allowed himself to smile back, showing vulnerability. He distantly heard the swirl of the floo, and Weasley and Granger’s voices as they greeted Hannah. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco, have you told him yet?”

“Well, this is new,” Harry said, eyebrow lifted, clutching the book to his chest, as if one of them would grab it.

Hermione came around to sit on one side of Harry, Ron on the other. A twinge of jealousy at the easy way they could move into his personal space flitted through Draco, but he brushed it off as Harry’s eyes met his again. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, sounding curious but resigned, as if he expected it. Maybe he’d had one too many interventions in his life, and knew what it looked like.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “we need to go to Draco’s shop, there’s something you need to see.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Draco, eventually nodding. “Okay,” he said shrugging. There was no inquiry about France this time, and he seemed oddly compliant. Did it mean he was remembering something? Draco stifled his excitement as they stood and walked to the wall in the back, Ron tapping out the combination to the entryway to Diagon. A quiet walk later, they stood at the shop entrance and let Harry take it all in. Granger finally spoke.

“Harry, this may be hard to accept, but five years have passed since the war, and you’ve been trapped in a mental time loop. You think everyday's the same day. Draco is here to help, we think we might have a solution to break the cycle, but you have to be willing.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. Draco watched helplessly as a myriad of expressions crossed Potter’s face: shock, anger, sadness, resignation. He turned to Draco.

“And you have a solution.” It was a statement more than a question.

“I may. At the very least, it will catch you up to speed faster than any of us explaining all the gaps. Can I show you?” Draco held his breath.

“I guess,” Harry shrugged, the look of resignation deepening. “If you think it will help.”

Ron spoke up for the first time. 

“Look, mate, I know it seems barmy, but it might be a cure. Just give Malfoy a chance.”

Harry burst out laughing. They watched him in confusion until he wiped the tears from his eyes and sighed. 

“Never thought I’d hear you say that, Ron,” he said, wistfulness at the edge of his eyes. 

Draco had learned many of Harry’s expressions, but this one was new. Anything new was a another stab of hope to Draco’s heart and he tried not to flinch at Harry’s reaction to Ron’s acceptance of him. 

Draco lead them through the shop, giving a nod to Angelica, and opened the door to the stairs leading to his flat. His heart thundered in his chest, excitement mingling with anxiety. 

With a flick of his wrist, Draco pulled the Pensieve from the wall and a vial for his pocket. He held it out to show Harry.

“This is a potion I made. I have been testing it out on patients at St. Mungo's with positive results. It’s meant to serve as a calming draught, providing extra clarity, so re-living certain experiences will not be re-traumatising. It links to the neural pathways in your magical core and creates a sort of unraveling of past experiences, joining it with new memories and those long in the past. It has been theorized that ‘triggers’ for anxiety attacks and nightmares are linked to other memories, and this can help separate the past from the present. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “And the Pensieve?”

“The memories, of course. Although, we will not be showing you any traumatic memories, just ones Granger, Weasley, and myself have collected while you have been in the time loop.”

Harry glanced at his friends, both of them nodding in agreement. They seemed to have nothing to add to his explanation. Harry held his hand out for the potion. He drank it on one swig, and swallowed it down, staring at the bottle, turning it in his fingers.

Draco pulled a bright blue-white vial from the shelf of memories. It contained some collected from Hermione and Ron, as well as his own. 

Harry joined him by the Pensieve, and Draco fought the urge to hold his hand and go with him; it might be too intense an experience and he didn’t want him to feel as though his privacy was being invaded. Draco was sure he’d feel that way anyway when he reached the newer memories Draco had added to the end. The ones he didn’t tell Hermione and Ron about. The ones where Harry and Draco sat and ate meals with Kreacher together, where Harry pressed against him with kisses, where Draco blushed and told Harry he would miss him in the morning. 

Harry watched as Draco spilled the shining fluid into the silver of the Pensieve, gave him one last inscrutable look and leaned in.

All they could do was wait.

Nearly 15 minutes later, Harry emerged, visibly shaken. Ron darted out and caught him when his knees wobbled, and led him to Draco’s couch.   
Harry started to cry.

Draco was prepared for a lot of things, but the crying was not on the list. Fortunately, Hermione was prepared with a handkerchief and a shoulder to take the brunt of emotions. She put aside his glasses as Draco and Ron hovered, the Englishmen in them feeling properly awkward. Harry’s sobs gave way to sniffles.

“I’m just so tired,” Harry whispered. Draco felt frozen to the spot, waiting. Harry’s watery eyes found his and held them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Draco for a bit, if that’s okay with you two.” Harry’s eyes stayed glued to Draco’s even as he addressed his friends. 

Hermione huffed in protest, but Ron held out a hand to her giving her a look. She nodded and gave one sorrowful look back as they floo’d away. Harry sat up.  
Draco still stood in place, stiff and fearful. Harry walked to him slowly, stopping mere inches away.

“That part at the end, that was just for you, wasn’t it?”

Draco swallowed and found his voice. “It was for you, too. But I- I’m selfish, and I wanted you to see. Wanted you to remember.”

Harry nodded, his eyes brighter than Draco had ever seen, unhindered by the lenses of his glasses. 

“I want to remember, Draco, show me.”

Their lips were so close, his scent already flooding Draco’s senses; Harry swaying, his eyes fluttering shut.

It was like another first kiss, they all were, electric and hot. But it slowed, and soon something else seeped in, something deeper, something gentler. Harry pulled back, glancing at the rug in front of the fireplace, but instead, pulling Draco back into his own bedroom. 

Draco relaxed into Harry’s arms, allowing the shorter man to pull him to his bed, untucking his shirt and removing his waistcoat. Harry took the wand still clutched in Draco’s hand and set it on the bedside table next to his own. He stiffened when Harry removed his shirt, his Mark plainly black against his skin, unmoving, the magic dead. Harry pulled the forearm to his mouth and gently kissed it, locking eyes with Draco. There was forgiveness there. Draco pliantly let Potter push him to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before him, opening his trousers and pants. His mouth made its way across Dracos neck, his chest, his tongue tracing old scars, evidence of their troubled past, thin and silver, noticeable only if you looked for them.

The feel of Potter’s tongue on his cock was like worship, reverent, familiar even. Draco moaned and shuddered, allowing himself to be pushed back onto the bed so his clothing could be completely removed. He didn’t usually take such a passive role in bed, but if it was what Harry wanted, he would get it.

“Draco,” Harry whispered against his skin, kissing his way open-mouthed up his thigh. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” Draco blurted, unthinking. “I want everything, Harry. I just need you.”

Harry sighed against his hip, licking and sucking a bruise. “I need you too, I want to give you everything. Can I take you?”

Draco nodded . “ _Please,_ Harry, take me.” He didn’t usually bottom, in fact it had been so long ago, he barely remembered his fumbling experience in the dark loo of a Paris club. 

Harry grabbed Draco’s wand, casting protection spells and cleaning as well. Draco shivered as the magic skipped across his skin, and inside him, his cock growing harder at his wand responding so readily to Harry’s will. Harry’s wordless _Accio_ of Draco’s lube from the bedside table nearly undid him.

Harry removed his clothing quickly, moving with Draco to the center of the bed, spreading his legs wide and laying between them. Draco had to prop up on his elbows to watch as Harry licked down his body, taking his bollocks in his mouth, one by one, sucking gently, and pressing a slick thumb to his tightly puckered hole. 

“I think you should turn over for me to prepare you,” breathed Harry, tickling the hair on Draco’s thigh. 

Draco acquiesced, turning to allow Harry to lift his hips and cant them up, exposing his lube slick hole to the cool air. He shivered as Harry’s thumbs returned, pressing and massaging, while still tonguing his bollocks. Draco relaxed onto his folded arms, arse still high in the air, moaning and grunting as Harry pushed the tip of a thumb past the ring of tight muscle, pulling a little as he went. It was an odd feeling, being touched that way, but suddenly Draco wanted Harry inside him so badly he whimpered.

Harry laughed softly. “I’m not going to rush, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Draco spread his legs further apart and pushed back toward the increasingly building pleasure. Harry’s thumb pressed deeper, causing Draco to moan wantonly, urging Harry to go faster. 

Harry sat back, thumbs never leaving his hole and pressed the length of his cock against the back of Draco’s thigh. Draco arched and rubbed back on it, trying to maneuver so Harry’s cock was closer to its target. Harry swatted Draco’s bum. 

“Stop that! You really want something this size,” he teasingly nudged his cock against Draco’s hole, its size suddenly more relevant to Draco. “Going into this tiny, tight hole? Dear Godrick, you would be walking funny for a month.”

“Maybe I want to walk funny for a month,” Draco griped.

Harry laughed loudly. The sound was joyful and unexpected and Draco turned and grinned back at him wickedly.

“There’s the Draco we know and love,” Harry said through giggles. Draco blinked. Harry seemed to notice his choice of words and blushed from the neck down. He began working his thumbs deeper into Draco, switching to fingers to go even deeper. Draco didn’t get a chance to respond, his eyes were rolled back, rocking back onto Harry’s thick fingers.

“Merlin, Draco, I want to fuck you so bad, you have no idea,” Harry panted, “have we done this before?”

Draco mumbled into the pillow, then pushed himself on quaking thighs to respond. 

“No, not like this. I’ve had you on the rug, it was unexpected, you pulled me down on you- ungh- oh fuck, _right there,_ and it was the best orgasm of my life.”

Harry kept spreading his fingers, stretching his hole, adding more lube. He whispered something into the small of Draco’s back, but it was lost in the slick sounds of the thrusting of his fingers and the moans and pants that spilled from Draco’s mouth.

Finally, Harry slipped his fingers out, leaving Draco feeling loose and empty. He moaned, but pliantly rolled over to face Harry. Draco naturally moved into place, legs up to his chest, hooked over Harry’s shoulders who pressed forward, pushing the slick head of his cock into Draco. It felt so _huge_ , so hot. Harry covered his mouth with his own, kissing him slowly, deliberately, like he’d done it a thousand times before, as if knew exactly how to distract Draco as he filled him. Soon Harry was rocking in and out, the slide of flesh inside him sparking lights behind Draco’s closed eyes. 

Draco’s eyes opened as Harry whispered his name. The look in Harry’s eyes was so beautiful it was painful. Draco felt a tear escape the corner of his eye, desperately trying not to think of how Harry might not remember tomorrow morning. Harry kissed him again, thrusting harder, the spark of pain/pleasure removing all thought from Draco’s head. 

The sound of grunting and skin slapping filled the room. The pace escalated as Harry rearranged Draco’s legs to reach a steeper angle. He was rotating his hips, searching; Draco’s back arching in immeasurable pleasure when Harry found his mark. Once the angle was established, Harry was brutal, nailing it over and over until Draco was dragged to the precipice of bliss. Harry’s hand found Draco’s iron-hard cock, leaking copious amounts of precome, and he stroked only a few times before Draco rocketed over the edge. The world became muted as his ears rang pleasantly and his hole clamped down like a vice on Harry.

Harry cried out Draco’s name, pumping him full of hot seed as his hips stuttered then stilled. 

Amused, Draco blinked lazily and smiled gently as he watched Harry watching his own cock with fascination as it continued to disappear in and out of Draco’s relaxed hole. It was still spurting aftershocks of come, and Harry seemed to be trying to push his seed back into Draco as it leaked out. He felt marked, claimed, owned, and it was wonderful. With weakened arms, he pulled Harry down into the sticky mess of his release and pressing their mouths together again. 

Harry laughed fondly into the kiss, brushing Draco’s sweat-slicked hair from his face. Their mostly softened penises lined up, twitching against one another, an oddly comforting sensation. Harry reached over and used Draco's’ wand again to clean them up. Draco arched an eyebrow when he still felt the sensation of come leaking from him. Harry bit his lip. “Let’s leave that there a little longer, yeah?”

Draco’s smirked. “Alright, I guess I can stand being full of Savior come a little longer. Does it make me shine like you now?” 

Harry punched his arm lightly. “Yeah, shiny as fuck. Golden, even.”

They kissed, slower and slower until it was just their lips touching as they drifted off to sleep. 

********

“What the fuck, Malfoy?!?”

Draco shot upright, his hands searching for his wand, disoriented. _Oh, shit, they fell asleep- did they sleep the whole night?_

A quick glance at the east-facing window gave him an answer. _Oh shit._

“Harry, this is not what it looks like,” Draco held his hands up, trying to appear non-threatening to an obviously panicking Harry.

“What the fuck else could it possibly be, besides what it looks like?” Harry was holding the sheet tight to his chest, holding Draco’s own wand on him. 

“That’s my wand,” he sighed. “Yours is there.” He pointed defeatedly at the nightstand. 

Harry’s concentration wavered as he looked down at the elm wand in his hand.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry mumbled, blinking. “I mean, not sorry! Why am I naked in your bed?”

This was so bad. “It’s a very long story, one that will make sense if you just drink this potion and-”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to let you drug me again?”

Draco started. “I would never- Harry, I promise you if you just look in the Pensieve-”

“WHY DO YOU KEEP CALLING ME HARRY?”

Potter looked like he was coming unhinged. This was so bad. Draco felt traitorous tears well in his eyes.

“You don’t remember,” Draco whispered, sniffing, feeling so small, “it was a curse and every day you wake up and don’t remember, and it’s always 30 October, and you don’t remember that I love you.” Draco pressed the heels of his palms in shame to his eyes, seeing stars at the pressure. 

“Wha-” Harry’s voice sounded broken.

Draco pulled himself together. “I’m calling Hermione and Ron. I suggest you get dressed, unless you don’t mind them seeing you in your altogether.” He stood, pulling his dressing gown on, not missing the way Harry’s eyes wandered up his torso and back down again before he was covered. He blushed with shame as a trickle of Harry’s come escaped his aching arse. He tightened the cord around his waist and stomped to the living room, wiping tears away angrily. He grabbed floo powder.

“Hermione Granger-Weasley,” he called into the green flames.

“Granger-Weasley?” Came an uncertain voice from behind him. Potter was mostly dressed; t-shirt in hand. Draco carefully kept his eyes away from Harry’s chest. He pointed a finger at the glasses lying on the coffee table, and Harry stumbled over to them, sitting on the sofa in a daze. 

“Hello Draco! How’d it go?” Hermione’s head popped into the green flames. He didn’t even open his mouth before she read his face. “Move over I’m coming through.”

She stepped from the flames in her own dressing gown, barefoot. She stopped and looked down, wiggling her toes in the soft rug for a second, and going to Harry on the sofa. 

Draco stared into the fire and tried to be invisible. 

“Harry, did Draco tell you what happened?”

Harry made a noise of derision, but Draco refused to look over. He was barely keeping it together. 

“Draco? You two are mates now?” Harry’s voice had a hard edge to it. At least he sounded less confused about it.

Hermione nodded firmly. “And so are you. In fact, you may not remember anything when you wake, but when we speak daily, you talk about him. Even when you don’t see him.”

Draco snapped to attention. This was something Hermione hadn’t mentioned before. She threw a guilty look at him. He stayed silent.

Harry was glancing back and forth between them, flushing slightly. “I- I was looking for his wand. Did I ask you about his wand?” He spoke low, as if it were he that felt ashamed. 

Draco’s mind raced. Had he been looking this entire time? He really needed to talk to Kreacher. 

“Yeah, Harry, and every time I tell you it’s been missing from the Ministry. And every time you say you feel bad that you couldn’t give it back to Malfoy.”

Draco winced. He really would like to have it back, but he supposed it made sense it was missing. It was, after all, the wand that killed the Dark Lord. It would be priceless to a collector. 

Harry nodded, looking at his hands. “I’d like to go home now,” he said, standing up. 

Hermione looked at Draco one last time, sorrow in her eyes. It was foolish of them both to think his treatment would work. It was a fool’s errand. He felt her pity like a knife, and quickly retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom, which now held the smell of Potter. He stared mournfully at the bed. It had to stop. All of it had to stop. He picked up his wand when he heard the roar of the floo twice, and vanished the sheets. He freshened the air as best he could, trying to erase the Harry’s smell. He felt his heart harden, twisting painfully. He shut it down, pushing it all to the back of his mind, boxing it in, putting a lid on it.

It was the best he could do.


	3. Avoidance

********   
He didn’t go to the Leaky Cauldron the next day. Or the next one. He avoided Hermione’s calls and tried to put it out of his mind. He went about his research, putting all his attention into it, ignoring the curious stares of a concerned Angelica. 

Friday, about five days (six hours, twenty-seven minutes) after the incident, Luna Lovegood came stomping into the shop. 

“Draco Malfoy!” She had a determined look on her face and waved a book at him menacingly.

He had never seen her angry, but it was as close as it was going to get with her. He went over, eyebrow up, clutching the book as she thrusted it at his chest. 

“What’s this?” Luna demanded.

Though he knew as soon as his fingers felt the rough touch of the old book.

_A Timeless Love,_ by Kairos Black. The book Harry kept with him always. If he wasn’t pretending to read it, he shrunk it down and kept it in the pocket of his jeans.

“How did you get-”

She put her hands on her hips. “How dare you give up on Harry Potter! How dare you give up on yourself!”

Draco shook his head shooting a glare at Angelica. The young witch just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, obviously siding with Luna. 

“I can’t do it anymore, alright?” Draco groaned. “I can’t keep driving myself mad trying to fix something unfixable. He’s better off in his happy little bubble of existence, where I’m far away from him.”

Angelica snorted. “You’re miserable, Mr. Malfoy, admit it.”

“You stay out of this, Angelica,” Draco grumbled half-heartedly. He knew he wore his emotions on the outside, and his careful compartmentalizing of Harry and his aching heart was starting to escape its confines. He didn’t know much longer he had until he had a complete breakdown.

“How is he?” He whispered, unable to meet Luna’s eyes.

“Oh, Draco,” she breathed, “you don’t know, do you? He’s been back at St. Mungo's for almost a week. He won’t talk to anyone, except Gilderoy Lockhart, of all people, and he writes in his book. I administered some of your calming draught so he could get some rest, and I stole the book. Have you ever seen it?”

Draco’s mind was spinning. If the timing was what he thought it was, Harry admitted himself directly after leaving Draco’s. “How long?” 

Luna furrowed her brow.

“How long has he been back at the ward?”

She thought for a moment. “A few days. He’s not even putting up a fight to leave. He doesn’t seem to care he’s stuck there, and he doesn’t look well. And this-” She motioned to the book, still clutched in Draco’s hand.

He let it fall open in his hands.

He sucked in a breath. Harry had been writing in the margins with a bit of lead pencil, jotting down thoughts, asking himself questions.

_Draco’s wand in the Ministry- stole it 18 October 2002, missing next morning_  
It’s been months. But the press is gone.  
Woke in his bed. I may have panicked  
He kisses me. In the rain. I tell him not to go. He leaves anyway  
Woke up in the ward again, this time I know I’m here by choice  
Can’t find the TT. Was it ever real? Where is the wand?  
Paparazzi all over Grimmauld. Need to change wards.  
If this note is here, you know already how you feel   
On the rug in front of the fireplace...I can’t stay away 

The notes were in no particular order, and many of them were things Draco weren’t sure had happened at all. What was happening?

He snapped the book shut and headed to the floo. He ignored both of the protesting voices behind him, and stepped in, shouting for Grimmauld Place. The witches would figure it out.

His landing wasn’t gentle, and he fell forward, catching himself on the coffee table. He straightened and called out.

“Kreacher, I need you.”

With a pop, the hunched over elf appeared, eyes widening.

“Master Draco, how can Kreacher being of assistance for you?” The crinkled, grumpy old face that Draco had become accustomed to was drawn into a look of concern. Draco sat and motioned Kreacher to join him.

“Kreacher, listen. I know something is happening to Potter and I need to know what you know.”

The elf shuttered his look, his eyes darting around the room.

“Kreacher, look at me. I know Harry probably swore you to secrecy, but I think he might be in trouble- I need your help. You are sworn to help the Black family and its inheritors? Well, I am son of Narcissa Black Malfoy, and I need you to help.”

A swift change happened in Kreacher’s face; his features relaxed and he nodded.

“Of course, Master Draco is a Black. The Mistress had his name added to the tapestry when Master Draco was born. Kreacher will tell you Master Harry’s secret. Kreacher should not be punished.”

He looked unsure at the last bit, side-eyeing Draco for verification.

“Of course, Kreacher, you would deserve commendation, for saving Potter’s life. What has he been up to?”

A leathery old hand gripped his wrist and they were on the second floor outside Potter’s bedroom. The door was open, and there were papers scattered across the bed. 

“Master Potter was doing some things. Things Kreacher is not sure of, but he has being meddled with time, and even Elves know not to being meddling with time.”

Draco walked to the bed, picking up the closest parchment. It had a pendant drawn in rather great detail on it, labeled as a diagram. There was a hourglass in the center, and loops of metal that circled it. It looked like a time-turner, like the ones the Ministry had destroyed after the war.

“Master Harry was looking for this,” Kreacher motioned to the drawing. “Master Harry says he has finds it, had it in his hands once. But Master Harry cannot get back to the when. He tells Kreacher to lie, but Kreacher knows Master Harry struggles.”

“What happened the day after he-” Draco flushed and his heart sank. “The morning he left for Janus Thickey.”

Kreacher began picking his nose thoughtfully. “Master was very upset. Master asked Kreacher where the wand was, if Kreacher has seen the Hawthorn wand which defeated the Dark Lord. Kreacher says no, and Master retired to his rooms, and Kreacher was in the cellar. Master Harry came down for dinner-making and says he is going away, and not to worry. Kreacher is worrying, and goes to the house of Weasley and asks Master Harry’s friends. They say they will take care of it again.”

“I see,” Draco said, leafing through the papers, looking for some kind of clue. So far, all it seemed to be was a list of dates, some as far back as 1980, some in the near future. It looked kind of like a timeline, but it was all out of order. What was Harry trying to do? 

He needed to see him, right away. 

“Kreacher, do you know where Harry’s invisibility cloak is?”

The Elf gestured to a multicolored pile of fabric laying carelessly over the back of a chair. Of course Potter would think nothing of handling such a prize recklessly. He picked it up, shaking it out. He needed to leave soon. But one more thing.

“Kreacher, does Harry read the _Daily Prophet_?”

“Of course, Mastery Harry takes the paper with his breakfast every morning. If only to check the date.”

Draco sucked in a breath and darted out the door, thundering down the stairs. He pulled his wand, and opened the front door, Apparating as soon as he felt the wards drop. He had a few hours until the sun went down and he needed to take a chance.  
********


	4. Harry Gets a Visitor

Harry rolled over in his bed, the springs squeaking. He felt groggy and sat up, feeling around for his wand. Oh, right. He must be in the ward- no wand. He found his glasses on the side table and put them on. 

The white walls came into view, along with the window charmed to seem like a summer day. As ridiculous as it was, waking up to a summer morning was the best thing about the ward; it was consistency that Harry had in absolutely other part of his life.

His life. A mish-mash of days, completely in a random order, running together like wax on a hot day. 

He pulled himself out of bed and looked around for his book. 

The book was gone. He had only been asleep for a short while, it seemed, but he had to admit he felt better after a nap and whatever potion Luna had convinced him to take.

“Fucking hell, Luna,” he said under his breath, smirking a little. She essentially had tricked him, drugged him and got the book away from him. He was actually pretty grateful for the short length of sleep- waking up to the same day was refreshing. Especially since tomorrow morning could be literally any time between 1998 and who-knows-when in the future. He’d only lept ahead as far as somewhere in the middle of 2004, which he knew must be close to the actual present. It had to end somehow, it just had to. Draco’s presence was confirmation of that. 

He shuffled into the day room, surveying the contents. The elderly witch with the lisp was there, Lockhart was by his window, and the Longbottoms were playing cards at a table. 

There was no wizard with the funny long eyebrows. Which meant Gerald had been discharged sometime around the end of 2003. 

“May, maybe June, 2004,” he said to himself, itching to write in his book. There was no telling what day it was, really, unless he got his hands on the _Prophet._ And the medi witches weren’t very keen on letting patients read the news. They said it was ‘too upsetting.’ 

Of course it was upsetting to Harry, it was never the right bloody day.

He slumped down into a chair next to Frank Longbottom.

“Hi Frank. Alice.” He greeted the both.

“Hello James, fancy seeing you here,” Alice leaned forward and patted his cheek. Harry smiled at her, grimacing internally. At least she recognized him as someone she knew, instead of regarding him as a stranger. It was heartbreaking if Neville visited on a bad day, he would hide the hurt and play board games or exploding snap, the muggle version, with his parents for his weekly visit. It was one of the only ways Harry could know the day of the week, Neville’s visits. It brought little peace, though. Neville could hide his pity no better than he could hide his hurt.

“Who’s your friend, James?” Frank was looking directly over Harry’s shoulder, seemingly at empty air. Harry spun, feeling the closeness of a body, but no one was there. Odd. He slowly turned back, wondering if he should go get the Cluedo board.

“Potter,” a familiar voice hissed from close behind him. 

Harry jumped, reaching for a wand that wasn’t there, holding out his hands defensively. A patch of air wavered in front of him, warbling like a mirage of heat, and a gray-blue eye surrounded by pale skin appeared, wide and fearful.

“Potter, it’s me,” the voice whispered. “Can we go somewhere I won’t be seen?”

Harry’s stomach swooped with relief and excitement. He raised his eyebrows. “Is that my cloak?”

“Of course it’s your cloak, you nunce, I didn’t just find it lying about- wait, that’s exactly how I found it. Now take me somewhere we can talk!” Draco’s panicked voice mixing with a little sarcasm was like a balm to Harry’s nerves. This was closer-to-the-present Draco, and he’d come for Harry.

“Oh thank fuck,” Harry breathed, waving a hand out and catching Draco’s elbow, quickly pulling him to his room, keeping an eye on the other patients. No one paid him any mind as he shoved an invisible mass through the door, shutting it quickly behind himself. 

In a swish of fabric, Draco stood there, hair mussed, eyes still wide, and breath quick.

“Do you need to sit down?” He motioned Draco to the bed. Draco seemed to snap out of it.

“Which Harry are you?”

Harry balked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean which Harry-” he paused, screwing up his face in thought. “I mean, at what point in time are you? Do you remember the- er, the Pensieve at my flat?”

Harry exhaled a long breath and sagged onto his bed. This was the day Draco had figured it out. As much could be figured out of such a mess. 

“Yes,” He breathed, “Yes, I remember, Draco. I remember falling asleep with you and- mmph!”

He was interrupted by a mouth pressing to his, warm and firm, the scent of warm familiarity filling his nose. He kissed back, pulling Draco down to straddle his lap as he moved back to the headboard. Their tongues met, hesitant at first, then deep and frantic, bodies rubbing and grinding, Harry gripping the globes of Draco’s arse, pulling him in firmly, thrusting up. Draco moaned and gasped. He pulled away, breathing deeply.

“Harry, wait, we can’t just snog in your room, what if someone comes in,” Draco said between pants.

Harry made a noncommittal noise and kept sucking kisses into Draco’s long pale neck. He didn’t give a single fuck if anyone walked in, he was the happiest he’d been in weeks/years/days or however it could be measured.

Draco took Harry’s shoulders and held him back, looking him in the eye. His pupils were huge, nearly eclipsing the gray, and Harry could feel the hard line of his cock pressing against his stomach.

“Harry, we need to leave. Right now. Luna knows I came after you, and I’m not sure how long it will take before she hunts me down and gives me the boot.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said casually, “she lets us get by, causes a diversion or something, I don’t remember the story exactly, since I haven’t actually lived it yet.”

“That’s another thing-” Draco snapped his mouth shut. “No, let’s leave, I have too many questions.”

He stood quickly, picking up the cloak. “Oh, here, I brought you back your book.” He handed Harry the familiar book with a small smile. Merlin, he loved Draco that already knew. Closer-to-the-present Draco knew him inside and out, knew what he needed. Harry pulled him into a kiss, more tender than heated, taking Draco by surprise. His long pale lashes fluttered shut, and his hands rested lightly on Harry’s hips. The little sighs and murmurs of contentment that fell from his lips were the very thing that kept Harry from giving up. The very thing that kept him waiting for this day. The day they… something. He knows they get out of the ward… but they’re looking for something. He’s not sure what it is.

Harry took the cloak and threw it over them, still pressing small, chaste kisses on Draco’s chin and cheeks, reveling in the warmth coming from his body. He took Draco’s chin and held it until he opened his eyes. They were dazed and full of feeling, and Harry sucked in a breath.

“You already love me by now, don’t you,” he murmured. “You already love me, and I could tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you, but you worry I won’t remember like last time, and you will lose me all over again. That I won’t love you when I open my eyes tomorrow in a day long before you come home from Paris.”

Draco blinked quickly, holding back wetness welling up there. Harry didn’t push it, he knew how fragile this man was. Despite his often spiky exterior, he had to protect his heart with all his might.

“Shh, it’s okay, Draco, we’ll find our way out. Don’t give up please? There has to be an end-”

A loud knocking cut through his words, a voice calling from the other side.

“No, I don’t see Harry in here, he must have gone down to see the healer already.” Luna opened the door and stood out of the way. Harry bit back a smile as he pulled Draco past her, still clutched together. Real subtle, Luna. 

“Maybe I’ll check the hallway,” Luna called, opening the main doors, “perhaps he’s out there.”

The day shift witch monitoring the patients nodded and checked her chart with a quill. Luna stood back out of the way smiling cheerfully at no one in particular. 

“Maybe he’s figuring out his life,” Luna whispered in her sing-song voice, “and figuring out Draco’s as well.”

Draco made a soft protest, and Harry choked on a laugh as they ran-walked in a crouch down the hall, opening the doors to the stairwell, bursting into laughter as the door slammed shut. 

“Real subtle, Lovegood,” Draco wheezed. Harry laughed even harder, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to stop and tell Draco he had just thought that too, but his giggles turned into hiccoughs, and they needed to leave.

“Can you Apparate us to Grimmauld?” Harry asked when he could breathe, absently straightening pieces of Draco’s hair so they laid in place neatly. 

Draco just stood, stunned, lips parted, watching him. He shook himself.

“Of course,” Draco pulled his wand and grabbed Harry around the middle.

With a pop, they landed on the porch of Grimmauld, something tickling in the front of Harry’s mind. Something from years ago, something that didn’t make sense at the time.   
He opened the door, the wards moving around him comfortably, pulling Draco through, linking their fingers.

“Draco,” he slowly asked, “Do you remember about your wand? There was something about it being missing from the Ministry. The book alludes to me stealing it, but I don’t know if I’ve experienced that day yet, or if I’m just starting to lose more days.”

“You’re losing days?” Draco gaped at him. “How does this work, exactly?”

Harry breathed deeply. He wasn’t sure if this was the day he told Draco all of it, but maybe it was and maybe…

“Let’s get some tea and I’ll tell you all I know.”

********

1998 - sort of.

Harry awoke screaming again. The darkness seemed to suffocate him, making his limbs as heavy as lead, impossible to move. He laid there, frozen, willing the images out of his mind, trying to slow his gulping breaths. 

Slowly, his heart stopped beating a hyper tempo, and his breathing deepened. His head was still spinning, tilting the room in constant vertigo, making his eyes roll shut. He finally lifted his arms and pressed the heels of them to his eyes.

He peered around the room, everything blurry without his glasses, his mind trying to make the pile of laundry out to be Wormtail, and his dress robes hanging on his open wardrobe door out to be Voldemort himself. He blinked angrily, reaching for his glasses to chase the false imagery back to where it came from. 

The room came into focus, messy as usual. The darkness of the ancient house settled on every surface, invading from every corner. He’d work on the house again today, maybe Kreacher would be up to talking about removing some of his family member’s heads from the walls. He shuddered when his brain supplied an image of his own family   
stuffed and mounted in the entryway, glass eyes staring ahead blindly. 

He felt ill.

Maybe cleaning out the house would be good for him. Maybe it would bring back some sense of normal, even though it escaped him at the time, just what normal was supposed to look like. It had been dark wizard fighting, camping in the woods, attending multiple funerals, then testifying in many, many trials at the Ministry. After the Malfoy trials, he was relieved of his duty, and he decided a little time off was in order. A little time to figure out what normal meant to him.

Kreacher was a foul old curmudgeon, but somewhere in the midst of Harry spending more time in the house, the Elf began to accept him in spite of his half-blood status and his non-blood relation to the Black family. As far as knew, the line was nearly dead; Teddy Lupin and Draco Malfoy were all that remained of the direct line. Unless Bellatrix Lestrange had children he didn’t know about…. he shivered in revulsion at any offspring the evil woman could spawn.

Harry pulled on some mostly-clean clothing and headed to the kitchen for tea. His paper had been owl-delivered as usual, along with a pile of mail from people he didn’t know, people who wanted to know him, and people who were interested in some downright disturbing things. One letter he had bothered to read was from a wizard who insisted Harry send his toenail clippings so the wizard could make a protection spell that would ensure a long life. 

Harry wasn’t sure which was worse; giving his toenails away or living a long life.

It wasn’t that he was suicidal, if asked, he’d say he had loads to live for, but he no longer knew exactly what those things _were._

Ginny and he had barely needed a conversation to decide they weren’t meant to be. She had formed a strong bond with Dean Thomas during the war, and she landed in his arms. She was headed for quite the career in quidditch once school was finished, and Harry was happy for her. The fire in her that once held his attention was too much most days, and Harry came to find out that when it came down to it, he really wasn’t a thrill-seeker.

Not that people would leave him alone about it. Ron was so disappointed when he didn’t join him right away in Auror training after the trials, but he’d had just long enough sitting in the courtroom watching justice take place to learn the gray area between good and evil was a wider streak than he could have imagined. There were so many instances where he watched a poor, misguided soul who had joined the fight because of their father- Gregory Goyle- get sentenced to Azkaban. Although Harry had never been   
in the place himself, he knew what damage it had done to Sirius. His godfather had been constantly on alert after his incarceration, looking over his shoulder, but with a resigned look in his eyes as if he knew death would come for him. As it did in the end.

Seeing Draco Malfoy on the stand tore fiercely at Harry. Unexpectedly, he pushed his way in to speak on his behalf, as Dumbledore did for him in fifth year, and he spoke the truth of everything, never looking Malfoy in the eye. He couldn’t. He was afraid of what he would see- hatred, remorse, anything would have brought him to tears. Draco Malfoy was Harry in reverse, born on the wrong side of a fight he knew nothing about, but he had inherited it just the same as Harry. If he looked into his eyes, he’d see himself sitting there, having failed and drowning in consequences. He did his damndest, insisting that if Malfoy went to prison, then he, Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, deserved to go as well. He committed as many crimes, and when it came down to it, Dumbledore himself forgave Draco in his darkest hour, showing the boy was worth saving. It was complete and utter bollocks to name-drop Dumbledore, especially when he carried such a resentment against the old wizard, but it had done the trick and Draco and Narcissa were set free. Lucius had died in Azkaban, his mind barely there in the end. 

That was one death that didn’t lay heavily on his heart. Maybe the only death. 

The rest were with him _always_ , following him around, reminding him that his _one_ death could have spared so many, if he had just gone to Voldemort sooner. It plagued him, the what-if’s, the if onlys, and the obsession to see them all just once more.

That’s why when he stumbled across an old wood box in the attic containing a time-turner, he jumped at the chance to try and go back, try to change things.

Obviously something went wrong. 

He doesn’t remember what happened, but he knows he woke up in the wrong day the next morning. 

And the next. 

He decided to try and stay home, trying to figure out what happened to the time-turner, try to find it again, try to make sense of what idiot thing he’d done. It was easy to put off Hermione and Ron at first, they were busy with NEWTS and Auror training, but the more he folded in on himself, the worse it got. Kreacher was the first to notice.

The Elf wasn’t much help, but he continued to clean the house, keeping the secret of Harry’s supposed time loop, agreeing to tell Hermione that Harry thought it was still October 30 1998.

Since the actual day, he’d dealt with waking in the Janus Thickey ward for weeks, not in order, although it could be mistaken as such, which is probably why he stayed so long.  
He woke up in different rooms of the house- he’d taken to sleeping in different spots, hoping to make some sort of timeline.

And he woke up in Draco Malfoy’s bed, naked, hard, and wrapped around Malfoy like an octopus, grinding against his hip. It was evident they had had sex the night before, but shit, Harry hadn’t seen Draco for at least a year. He might have overreacted, but hell, maybe not, at the time it was disorienting. In the end, he had Hermione and Ron take him back to St. Mungo’s that day. It was years to Harry before he returned to sometime close to when that happened.

The book appeared in his hand one morning, and he assumed it was supposed to help, but it didn’t travel with him, meaning the passages he had written would be there some days and some days they were gone. The book itself was gone sometimes, until Harry woke up in the day he had found it in the library at Grimmauld. 

It was exhausting. And there didn’t seem to be a way out of it. 

The book itself was written by a relative of Malfoy’s, Kairos Black, a man who had been so obsessed with his lover at the time that he spoke of freezing the moment, so he could be with her always. But the story ended sadly, with her running off with another man and Kairos had ended up alone. Harry had read through it so many times, looking for answers, but it seemed the character was doomed to live the tragedy out every time, so Harry stopped looking and simply used it to track time.

After waking up with Draco, Harry began to find himself staring off into space, thinking about warm, pale skin, and the sweet-musky scent that had burrowed into his mind. The thoughts of his time with Draco would end with him wanking himself roughly, calling out Draco’s name. 

And then Draco made it easy.

Some days he would approach Harry’s table, nervous and wide-eyed. Harry would succumb to his eyes, his lips, his long fingers, and they would find themselves in the loo, tongues licking in to each other’s mouths, hands down the other’s pants, coming in a sweaty, hurried mess. It was hot, it was good, and Harry began to crave the closeness of it, the contact of his skin, the whispered moans and sighs into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough.

It was unfair to Draco, and he knew it. Harry couldn’t even remember when he knew he was gay, _did_ he know yet? Had he had experiences with other wizards?   
But it felt so easy, so natural, as if it had been happening forever. He _knew?_ Draco was clearly holding out some kind of hope that Harry would remember him, remember what they had. On days that he had already seen the Pensieve memories, he longed to break into Draco’s flat to see them again, in order.

The first time he broke into Draco’s apartment wearing the cloak, Draco was downstairs at work, and Harry sifted through memories, finding the oddest ones, sometimes just a soft smile exchanged between them, sometimes a long-forgotten heated exchange between the two in the hallway at Hogwarts. It began to occur to Harry that this had gone on so much longer for Draco than it had for him, and he knew he had to stop. 

But it turned out that he didn’t need to. One day Draco came in to the Leaky Cauldron and ignored Harry all day. Then he wouldn’t come in at all. Those days were the worst. Harry would read the paper in the morning to see the date, and excitement would build in his stomach and he’d practically run to the pub, go through the routines with Hannah, and wait anxiously for Draco to come. But he wouldn’t. And Harry felt a deep loss. 

And then a week of days would pass that were what he now thought of as pre-Draco. And Harry would mourn his loss.

Was it love? He had so little experience with romantic love that it was confusing and disjointed. Any attempt he made to start things off sooner with Draco seemed to confuse the man, so he decided it would be best to completely back off. 

And the Janus Thickey ward began to feel like home.

********

“I guess that’s about all this version of me knows right now,” Harry sighed into his hands. 

He looked up and met Draco’s wide gray eyes looking back at him, slightly glazed.

“Draco?” Harry fought the urge to shake him, waiting for him to let the information sink in.

“So…” Draco said finally, “you forget things some days?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really? Sometimes I’m aware that the day before I was a version of myself that knew more- knew Hermione and Ron were married, knew you were...back in London, but I’m in a time where I shouldn’t know that. That’s why I decided pretty early on to just tell everyone I thought it was the same day. If I kept up the pretense, it might give me time to figure out what was happening and fix it.”

“Can you manipulate the future at all?”

“I thought so at first…” Harry bit his lip, noting the way Draco’s eyes followed the movement. “But anything I do seems to be what I was going to do anyway, and since I cannot see the whole picture, it sometimes feels useless and I just need quiet.”

“Thus, the ward.”

“Yeah.” Harry looked away, flushing with shame. He would never tell Draco about the times he had thought about taking himself out, _Obliviating_ himself like Lockhart, or jumping from the roof of Grimmauld. What it would do to his friends was the only thing that kept him from giving up. That and knowing that Draco was there in the end somewhere. 

“But I know this ends, it _has_ to. Or I would be getting days past 2004, so far has been the closest to the present I’ve ever gone.”

“I see.” Draco had the book open, staring blankly at it. “No, I take that back, I don’t see. Tell me something, where does the time-turner come in?”

Harry looked back at him blankly. “Time-turner? Oh, the drawing in my room? I don’t know where that came from. It was just there one day. Maybe in 99? I can’t remember. I know I had it at one time, and I had theories about where it went it for a long time, but gave up trying to figure it out when I kept waking up in days the drawing wasn’t there.”

Draco nodded, brows furrowed, deep in thought. Harry gave in to the urge to touch him and slid closer, pressing their thighs against each other. The contact was like rain on a sweltering day, and Harry felt calm move through him, rightness. He wished he could hold on to that feeling forever.

Draco, almost absently, slid an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him even closer. He was still concentrating on the scribbled passages of the book in front of him. 

“Harry-” Draco shook his shoulder. Fuck, he’d almost fallen asleep. 

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, you’re just so warm, and I’m just so tired…”

“I know you are,” Draco kissed Harry gently, stroking his face with his soft fingers. “But you need to try and stay awake a bit longer, please, can you do that for me? I think I’m onto something.”

Harry sat at attention. Any new theories would be great, he was so lost at this point he had resigned himself to the ward. Another thing to never tell Draco.

“I think my missing wand, the time-turner, Kairos Black, and the papers on your bed have to be connected.”

“You read those?”

“Yes, Harry, I’m sorry, but I needed to know you were okay.”

Harry shrugged. “I probably won’t know you’ve done that tomorrow, so whatever.”

Draco turned sharply to Harry. “Don’t you say that, Harry Potter, I may have given up on you once-” He stopped, staring off into space. “Rats on a sinking ship…”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

Draco shook his head. “It makes sense now, some of the things you’ve said to me, the first day I saw you. To you, I had already left, already given up that time, and you were angry with me.”

Harry looked down. “I’m sorry. I, er, missed you. Later you. It’s really hard to tell what with how many times you’ve come to see me. I had no idea that was the first time.”

“Yeah, I see that now,” Draco had his thinking face on again. 

Harry smiled, flashing back on sixth year, when he’d sneak looks at him in Potions class, peering into his cauldron, concentrating to get the perfect mixture. Harry was amazed and not at all surprised that Draco was able to do very well in Slughorn’s class considering what he was being forced to do with the vanishing cabinet. He had watched him so closely that year, saw and memorized every expression. Rage, fear, loss, defeat, hope- the tiny moment before the Death Eaters showed up in the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore had gotten through to him somehow. He knew the look in his eyes now; the doubt and fear that he would let Harry down, he would fail him. 

Harry pulled him into a kiss, needy and hot. Draco responded quickly, pulling Harry into his lap this time, tightly wrapping him in his arms, panting and kissing and murmuring encouragement and oaths to one another, as if it might be the last time they would touch. And it could be. Harry could be in an earlier time tomorrow and not know any of it yet. And Draco might leave, broken from the cruel things Harry would say and he would be hollow, empty, alone.

The kissing became more desperate as clothing was being removed, buttons popping, glasses getting stuck in shirts, jeans and trousers hitting the floor. Soon they were skin on skin, the softness and heat, hard cocks rubbing together, slicked by sweat and precome. Both were moaning and grunting through it all. 

Draco reached behind Harry pressing two fingers to his rim, rubbing, circling. Harry grabbed his wand from the table, taking Draco’s hand and filling it with a hurried lube spell, desperate to feel full of Draco’s cock. Fingers plunged into his tight hole, slight pain that enhanced the pleasure, wetly thrusting, twisting, but not hitting Harry’s prostate from that angle. Harry bit hard on Draco’s neck, causing him to cry out and slapped Draco’s hand away. Harry lifted up on his knees, grabbed Draco’s leaking hard cock, and hovered over it, swiping it through the dripping lube on his backside and thighs. 

Draco was blindly thrusting upward, calling out Harry’s name like a prayer, gripping his hips tightly, holding himself back, letting Harry take control. Harry smiled down at him, taking in the flushed face, hair a mess from pulling, bitten lips, and eyes half-lidded, but so focused on Harry, locked on his eyes. Harry felt it like a hammer to his chest, and he gasped from the sheer emotion, covering it by pushing the head of Draco’s cock into himself with his fingertips and burying his face in his neck and breathing hard as he slowly sank down, filling himself. 

Draco held himself so rigid, waiting for Harry to give him permission to take over, Harry making slow lazy circles with his hips, feeling every inch of him. He rose slightly and slid back down, sitting up to see Draco’s eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Harry paused and waited until the pale eyelashes fluttered open and he could show everything in his face to Draco, guard down, breathing shallowly, holding back words, and finally nodding, giving over to Draco.

Draco growled and his grip tightened on Harry’s hips as he thrust up into him, hard and fast, spreading his legs to drop Harry down further on each stroke. Harry threw his arms around Draco’s neck and went limp, taking his cock, crying out in pleasure as his prostate was brushed over, then directly hit as Draco changed the angle of his hips. Attaching his lips to Harry’s neck, he lightly bit it and sucked sloppy kisses, licking at the marks, all the while relentless in his pounding. Harry felt the tingles over his skin coalesce in his spine, moving to his abdomen, heat curling, his bollocks tightening, his hole already clenching around Draco’s cock, orgasm building. He leaned in, dizzy and breathless as it hit him, whispering into Draco’s ear.

“I can’t ever forget you, ever let you go, I love you, I love youIlloveyouIloveyouIloveyou…”

The room whited out and Harry tumbled over the edge, his confession bringing Draco with him. Draco came hard into Harry, the slickness of his come dripping down his thighs as he fucked Harry through his orgasm. 

Harry went limp, allowing himself to be manhandled onto the sofa, flat, blissfully smiling up at Draco as he pressed kisses all over Harry, cleaning him with a wordless spell. Draco helped him pull on his clothing, just barely getting his shirt over his head as Harry drifted off. He had thought that after a small nap and he’d ask Draco more about his theory. A theory he _may_ have heard before.


	5. Harry Forgets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION!!!!!!!
> 
> I had serious posting problems, so today 1/21/2018, I posted the missing chapter 4, so If you read it before this date, I'm so sorry for the confusion. The new chapter 4 is Harry POV and explains all my massive plot holes I would have had without this chapter.

Draco tried, but he couldn’t stop Harry from falling asleep. He checked the time. It was still before midnight, so he let Harry sleep as much as possible. The revelation of the type of spell or curse was nothing he’d ever heard of.

He went back up to Harry’s bedroom and sifted through the parchments, looking at Harry’s scratchy writing, finding dates of his relative’s deaths, sometimes with long scratches through the names as if his frustration had lead him to a fit of rage. There were torn pieces, a broken tea mug in the corner, and he could almost hear the echoes of Harry’s scream.

He set about straightening up Harry’s room while he thought. He summoned Kreacher for new linens. While he directed the sheets into place with his wand, he thought about the desperate loneliness of a young man with no one left, the weight of death on his shoulders. Mother had told him that she _knew_ , saw with her own eyes, Harry being killed by a _Avada Kedavra_ , saw him fall, saw him die. Yet when she went to check, Harry was alive. She risked her own life, lying to the Dark Lord like that, and he was grateful for Mother’s fierce and devoted love for him. He knew the significance of his own mother saving Harry, placing herself between him and Death, her love for her own son, same as the love of Harry’s mother for her own son, had in the end, saved them all. 

At least that’s what Harry had said at the trial.

He had also said that he was no better than Draco, maybe worse. He had been the cause of many deaths, and would have to live with it for the rest of his life.

But how deeply did the blame go? Clearly Potter took the weight of it all. This had to be connected with the use of a time-turner. But how? And where was the bloody thing?  
He looked in every corner of the room, moving to the next room once Harry’s was a bit cleaner. He found nothing unusual, just Regulus Black’s room as he had seen before on one of his dinners with Harry in the past. 

Then a study, a drawing room, and other bedrooms, not finding anything at all.

He stood at the last short set of stairs to the attic, head tilted. Harry had not mentioned the attic. However, he knew from hearing Harry’s small stories, that besides the usual doxys, he would he would often come across a Boggart tucked away in a room, or a occasional pixie. He called Kreacher again.

“Master Draco wants to be going into the attic?” Kreacher asked, scratching his rear, looking thoughtful.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the poor manners, but understood the ancient elf didn’t mean to be rude. Draco would be lucky to have his faculties in order at his age- much less upright and walking around.

“Yes, Kreacher. Something else… Were you ever in the service of Kairos Black?”

Kreacher’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, Kreacher remembers Master Kairos quite well. A nice, pureblood boy like that, he made quite the young Slytherin Professors Kreacher heard, he was always visiting when Mistress was a child. Her Granda’ he was, Master Kairos.”

“Is that so? Is there a portrait of him here? I would much like to speak to him.”

Kreacher pulled on his ears, thinking. “No, Master Draco, Kreacher has not seen that portrait in many years. Perhaps the Hogwarts portraits might know where he be?”  
Draco broke into a smile. “Brilliant, Kreacher, you are such a faithfull and helpful servant to the Black family. Thank you, so very much, you might have just saved Harry Potter.”

Kreacher looked up with such happiness that Draco was worried his cheeks would crack.

“Kreacher will go to the Hogwarts Elves and asks if they’ve seen Master Kairos.” With a loud pop, he Apparated away.

Draco took the steps to the attic, placing a hand on the door. There was an odd humming behind it, so he drew his wand. A Boggart he could handle, but a curse, not so much.

_”Alohomora,”_ he called, unlocking the door. It swung open, making the humming even louder. He carefully stepped in, wand leading the way, and moved toward the sound. It was stuffy and dark in the long room, dust clinging to everything, a bit reminiscent of Borgin  & Burkes. 

He cast a _Lumos_ spell as he moved further from the light of the open door. So far, no Boggart, but the place was creepier than it had any right to be, especially since he was no threat to the house, being of the bloodline. As he continued, he saw a glow coming from a corner.

He made his way around a stack of steamer trunks, to the source of the light. A very familiar wand lay on the floor, in a pool of disturbed dust, in a suspended _Lumos._ In its circle of light hovered a time-turner, its long chain nearly dragging the floor. The magic was vibrating in the air and Draco didn’t need to be an Auror to know the signature was Harry’s. He resisted the urge to touch it; getting pulled into the same predicament Harry was in was the last thing he wanted. He needed help.

He needed Hermione Granger.

He ran back to the second floor floo and threw in a handful of powder. He had no idea what time it was, but hopefully she would be forgiving of his intrusion considering the reason.

A grumbling voice came through before a mess of ginger hair. “What, it’s nearly 4 in the morning! It better be-”

“It’s of the most importance, wake up Granger, we need a curse breaker, and we need the best!”

There was some arguing and Draco heard a muffled, _but it’s Malfoy,_ before Hermione’s head popped into view. 

“Draco, you have something?” She yawned and blinked.

“I’m at Grimmauld, and I found a time-turner in the attic- I think- no, _I know_ , it’s what’s wrong with Harry. It looks as though he got ahold of my old wand from the Ministry, I’m unsure why, and tried to go back and save his family.”

Granger was wide-awake now. “Of course, that sounds like something he would do, but why doesn’t he remember it? You would think he’d at least-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco interrupted. “He’s not been stuck in the same day, he’s been, I don’t know, _leaping around_ through time? I’ll have him explain it, but it might be a bit late for that, he’s already asleep, which means I only have about an hour at most before he wakes and probably kicks me out.”

“Oh dear, let me- Ron, no, the blue robes- oh for Merlin’s-” She turned back to Draco. “Let us get dressed, we’re on our way. Try to hide from him or something if he wakes up.”

She was gone and Draco moved to a chair. Now that he knew where the Hawthorn wand was, his fingers longed to hold it. He just needed to hold on. He stood quickly, going downstairs to see if Harry was still asleep. 

The sofa was empty. 

Draco panicked. He darted his eyes around, keeping his wand out in case he needed to defend himself against any-

“ _Incarcerous!_ Came a shout from behind. Draco felt ropes sprout from the air and bind his body tightly. Bugger. Draco fell to the floor with a thump. Harry didn’t remember.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy,” Harry demanded, now in front of his prone body, still pointing his wand in Draco’s face. Draco sighed. Malfoy. It was far back then. 

“Harry, I don’t know how to even begin to explain myself, so I’d rather wait until Weasley and Granger get here.”

“Well, I’m going to call them right now, so-”

The fireplace flared green and Hermione and Ron stepped through, not quite put together. 

“Harry,” Hermione called, “let him go, and put down your wand.”

Harry immediately responded to the witch’s commanding Mother voice and tucked his wand away. Draco felt the ropes loosen and disappear. He stood, rolling his shoulders.

“Thanks, Gra- Hermione,” he grimly smiled at her, and sat on the sofa where they had just so recently made love, the memory now wiped from Harry’s mind. Draco buried his face in his hands.

“Harry, what do you remember?” Hermione asked softly.

“Er-” Hary stammered. Draco looked up to see his face flush as he thought through his story.

“It’s 30 October, of course,” he answered, side-eyeing Draco. “I just woke up and found _him_ wandering ‘round my house.”

“I wasn’t wandering ‘round anywhere, I was coming to check on you,” Draco retorted blandly. This was getting tedious. But he clung to _his_ memory of the night before and took a deep breath.

“Al-alright,” Harry said unsure, “okay, er- thank you?”

Draco stared at him, incredulous. Was this a Harry that he had already been intimate with at least? The blush on Potter’s face was still there so apparently he did remember something- his day before must have been a good day.

Draco broke out into a smile. “Oh thank Merlin. I’ll bring you up to speed. I broke you out of St. Mungo’s using your cloak, brilliant that thing is, by the way, and Luna even helped us sneak out! We came back here and…” His eyes shot to Ron and Hermione’s faces, and he sensored himself in time. “We researched Kairos Black, my old missing wand, time-turners, and your tiresome obsession with bringing back the dead,” He knew he was weaving into dangerous territory, but he was so tired. “You must have been careless and-”

“You were in my room,” Harry said coldly.

“Yes but I also-”

“Harry, he means well, mate,” Ron said, “he said he has some information about your time loop.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up sharply. He shot Draco a look of complete betrayal. Draco physically jerked back from its power. His chest ached. _I didn’t tell them anything,_ he tried to communicate with his eyes and Harry hesitated. Harry nodded almost imperceptibly.

This was going terribly. Draco stood. “I might suggest you look in the attic, Hermione, if you are so inclined, I must away to Hogwarts to speak to a portrait.” He said in his most imperious voice. “Good day.” 

He picked up his cloak, threw it on with a swirl Snape would be proud of, and headed for the front door. Much more dramatic to slam the door, or better yet, leave it open and Apparate than to use the floo. He flung open the door and was met with steady rain, bathed in early morning light, barely turning the roads a lighter shade of gray. 

He tried to turn, but the wards tugged at him, keeping him from Apparating. He frowned and took the steps into the rain, throwing on his hood, shivering as the cold quickly seeped in. He cast a quick warming charm and hurried down the street. Away from Harry and the insan-

“Malfoy- I mean, Draco!” Harry’s trainers slapped the sidewalk, approaching him from behind. He spun to see Harry running toward him, getting soaked with no coat on. He stopped, mere inches from Draco, heaving and breathless. Draco closed his eyes at the onslaught of breathless whispers the night before, trying to push the thought away. 

He opened his eyes, and Potter was there, all green eyes and fogged glasses, which he pulled off and stuffed in a pocket. He was so close. Draco held up his wand.

“May I,” Draco gestured to Harry’s soaked state. He nodded and Draco cast an Impervious and a drying charm. Harry smiled. 

 

“I don’t know how much I told you,” Harry said nervously, “and I don’t even know what _I_ know, as stupid as that sounds. But I know I don’t want you to go.”

Draco leaned in as if pulled by magic, and kissed Harry gently. Harry’s lips softened under his. Every kiss felt like a first kiss and this was no exception. Draco opened his cloak, pulling Harry into it, shielding him from the outside world, from his own pain, loss, and desire to undo the past. 

They parted lips, breathing each other’s air a little longer.

“I have to go, Harry. But there’s always tomorrow and I will always feel this way about you. Always.”

His words trigger something in Harry, because tears began to well at the corners of his eyes. He looked away.

Harry laughed humorlessly. “Tomorrow. Sure, it will all be fine tomorrow.”

Harry pulled away, turning his back to Draco. It twisted his heart to see Harry like this, but Draco needed to find the portrait of Kairos soon, and perhaps they would have a tomorrow.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Draco whispered, Apparating with a crack.

**********

“Why, I say, you are a fine young gentleman, aren’t you. Carrying on the Black family name? Are you a son of Sirius? Regulus?”

Draco cringed at the portrait’s assumption. “Son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.”

“Malfoy, you say,” the man in the portrait leaned closer. “Nasty business with the war, of course, but our line has survived worse.” His mustached mouth smiled smugly, as if sharing some family secret with his great great grandson. Draco wanted to roll his eyes and ruin it by telling him that his other blood relative, Teddy, was half-blood, werewolf, and morphamagus, and Draco himself was a poof, but he let the poor image have his pride.

“Yes of course. I have questions about your book. _A Timeless Love_? You wrote it before your tenure here and I have some questions about it.”

“Oh that old thing,” Kairos stroked his mustache, looking in the distance. “Quite pathetically sad, don’t you agree? Was before I met your great great grandmother, and I daresay I don’t remember much about writing the book. Or living the things contained in it. I’ll tell you this,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “it is not advisable to go about it the way I did.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You mean the time-turner,” he stated. He was losing his patience.

“Oh, no. Not a _time-turner,_ but a _time-holder,_ a handy charm of my own invention, thought I must say it went terribly wrong.”

“Time holder?”

“Yes boy, don’t interrupt. It was in my school years that I became quite taken with a young lady in Slytherin, and once I had left to go make my way in the world, I wooed said lady, and affections were returned. She was betrothed to another- a pure-blood arrangement, like mine, of course, but it was to be years until either of us were to be married, so we spent every moment together. Then came the day of her wedding, and in a fit of pique, I altered a time-turner I had kept from school, so I could try and live in one moment forever, wake up in the same day over and over, never again having to give my lady away. Well, it didn’t work, and good thing too, because my darling lady, it seemed, had more than one lover at the time. Foolish, I suppose, but it worked out in the end, with your great great grandmother. We came to a mutual respect and love as should a pureblood marriage.”

“I see,” Draco’s mind was going top speed. “How did the charm not work?”

“It kept landing me in a different day! Took me ages to undo. About a month, I should think. But I managed to reverse the spell, and I returned to the present, though I do not recall anything from the month. I wrote the ridiculous book as a way to get it out of my system, you really ought to get rid of it.”

“I will indeed, sir. Now, say one mistook it for a time turner, and turned it back quite a bit, would one be able to get it to move forward again?”

“Oh I’m sure that would be nasty business, wouldn’t it? Nearly drove me mad that month, or so I’m told. Quite the scandal! But it did lead to my position as Charms Professor at Hogwarts, so in the end, and so forth.” He waved his painted hand around. 

“How do I move it forward?”

“Well, son, I’m sure you weren’t so daft as to cast such a spell?” A bushy painted eyebrow arched so like his mother’s that Draco smiled. 

“No, sir, not I. Someone important to me.”

“Ah. Well, the simplest answer was a _Prior Incantato_ , if you can believe that! It reversed the spell with no other negative affect. The only way I know what worked was because my dear friend Weasley was there to witness it.”

“A Weasley?” Draco snorted, amused.

“Yes, a dear, dear friend,” Kairos said wistfully, “but alas, a friendship like ours could not last in our time. I’m very sure it would be more acceptable now, what with all the boys holding hands in the corridors in Hogwarts. Very progressive.” He nodded with satisfaction. 

Draco was speechless. He shook himself, thrilled to have something really interesting to tell Pansy the next time they spoke. And something to taunt the Weasel with. He bid the portrait goodbye and left the castle. Headmistress McGonagall had been very helpful, and he felt a bit of pride in himself for making a formal amends to her. That and the fact he was helping Harry had him in front of the portrait in no time at all.

He hurried back to Grimmauld Place, rapping on the door. Kreacher popped his head out, scowling. “Master Harry says no visitors. No exceptions.”

Draco caught the door with his foot before it slammed. “Wait! I know how to fix it, I just need to get in the attic, please Kreacher, please let me in.”

Kreacher looked nervously behind himself. A muffled voice said something firmly, and Kreacher leaned out again.

“Master Harry sent home his friends too. He says ‘comes back tomorrow’ Master Draco. So you be coming back then.”

The door clicked shut. Draco should have expected as much. He’d have to floo Hermione to see what happened. 

He was exhausted. It had nearly been 24 hours since he had slept, and he needed to be at least half coherent to be able to explain to a possibly clueless Harry what they needed to do. Resigned to wait until tomorrow, he turned toward his home.

The shop was dark as he tripped up the stairs. His living room was quiet and warm, and he stood still for a moment, staring at the alcove in the wall where the Pensieve was held. Should he take a moment before sleeping to try and organize a combination of memories to show Harry? Providing he could actually get him to join him in his home. He sighed heavily. He knew opening the Pensieve would lead to picking through his favorite memories, watching them, pining, and having a sad wank. And he was simply to exhausted for a wank.

He shed his clothing, letting them drop the floor, for once not caring about tidying his room. The sheets felt amazing, still scented slightly of Potter. He buried his face in Harry’s pillow and fell into a deep sleep.


	6. The Karios Black Problem

Harry woke with a gasp, hard as steel in his jeans. He had fallen asleep in the library again, dusty old books all around himself. The battered copy of _A Timeless Love_ lay open in front of him, his bit of pencil resting in the spine. He shifted himself in his pants, finding no relief.

He decided to take a shower. The dreams were jumbled and faint, but he knew that hair and knew those eyes. They had haunted his dreams for years now, yet only recently had the dreams included sweating, writhing bodies, and moans of satisfaction. 

Harry stepped into the spray of hot water, letting it pound against his neck, pouring down over his chest and splitting to run around his impressively hard cock, that showed no signs of disappearing. He ran a palm over it, smirking when it seemed to jump against his hand. Might as well wank before starting another ridiculously frustrating day. 

He pulled down the conditioner that he rarely remembered to use on his hair and filled his palm with the cool liquid. He warmed it slightly, hissing when he slathered it over his straining erection. He placed his left arm against the cold tile to support his head as he moaned and shuddered. His hand felt wonderful, and he lost himself in the sensation of it sliding back and forth, his head peeking out of his foreskin over and over, until it was aching for release. 

He slowed, wanting to draw it out and slid his hand around to his backside, pressing against his hole. This wasn’t the first morning he’d woken up already loose, his first finger slipping in easily. He didn’t know if he’d been with someone or if it was from the big purple dildo he had charmed to look like a hairbrush on his nightstand. It had only been about 100 or so days since he had been moving around in time, but that meant nothing. In those 100 days, he’d apparently managed to steal Malfoy’s wand from the Ministry, lose it or have it stolen, and evidently do something stupid with the wand, since he kept waking up on the wrong day. 

Having used Malfoy’s wand so much must have gotten to him; Harry figured that’s why his old nemesis must have been showing up in his dreams.

The very thought of him made Harry clench down on his finger working in and out of his hole. He slicked up his other hand and directly leaned his forehead on the tile, hiking one foot up onto the edge of the ancient claw-foot tub. He made a hole with his fist to fuck into while he shoved two fingers into himself. He closed his eyes, picturing a mouth wrapped around him, hot and tight. Grey eyes looking up at him, lips stretched obscenely, and he shoved a third finger in. The scene in his head changing to a wet warm body pressing him into the tile, fucking him from behind, panting breath in his ear, maybe biting down, sucking a mark. 

The pressure built and crested, come spurting out of his fist, his hips snapping forward to ride it out, his hole clenching rhythmically on his fingers. His heart was hammering, his stomach hollow, as if there were something missing. 

He was numb and trembling a bit as he rinsed himself off and finished his shower. His arse ached pleasantly, but it still felt as if something was missing. It was too bad he was in the midst of a crisis, not knowing what day it was meant there could be Paparazzi outside his door. Otherwise he could finally go out to a club and have a shag or something, see what it was really like to be fucked or to fuck. For Godrick’s sake, he’d never even kissed another man. 

He dressed, pausing when he heard something downstairs. Kreacher popped in, startling him, wringing his ears. 

“Master Harry, Master Draco is here to see you. Is Master Harry be having visitors today?”

Draco Malfoy was at Grimmauld? He was unaware that Malfoy was back from France. Or even knew where Harry lived. 

“Fine, Kreacher, I’ll be right down.”

The old Elf bowed deeply and popped out. Harry winced when he realized he should have asked Kreacher what day it was. 

Harry looked down at what he was wearing and frowned. His t-shirt was old and too loose, and his jeans torn. He opened his wardrobe and rummaged for a clean button down and his black slacks from court. He found a dark green Henley and the slacks, using magic to remove the wrinkles, and quickly put them on. He went to the mirror and checked his hair, it was a hopeless mess no matter what he did. His eyes darted to the transfigured hairbrush on the nightstand and he blushed, flashing back to the shower and other nights where he’d filled himself, fucking himself hard, thinking guiltily about the very wizard standing in his drawing room downstairs.

He spelled his teeth clean and checked the mirror once more before leaving his room. He looked around in wonder. The house looked so very different than it had the day before. Perhaps Kreacher had brought in a team of Elves to help clean or something. He’d have to ask later.

Draco Malfoy stood, facing the fireplace when Harry walked in. He was wearing a fitted dark red waistcoat over a light grey shirt. His trousers cupped his arse, making it look good enough to bite-

Harry shook himself, blinking as Malfoy turned and saw him. A look flitted across his features, a searching look, pinning Harry’s gaze to his own. Harry furrowed his brows and frowned. Malfoy’s face instantly shuttered. The more familiar look was almost calming to Harry and he walked in the room fully, closing the door behind him. Malfoy’s eyes were on him again, carefully following his movement, studying the very air around him. It was rather unnerving considering he knew Malfoy was supposed to be in France. 

Maybe. It was hard to tell.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?”

“Malfoy?” The blond wizard snorted, looking away, wistful look in place. “I’m Malfoy this time, aren’t I?”

“Er-” Harry was a bit thrown off. “You mean, um, you’ve talked to me before? I mean…”

“Yes, Harry,” Malfoy said softly. “We’ve spoken. I know…” He seemed to be carefully formulating what to say next. “I know that you’ve been on my mind since the last time we spoke.”

Harry swallowed, blush rising to his face. Malfoy took a step closer, and then another.

“I know that how I feel when I’m with you,” Malfoy’s expression was open, making Harry take in a sharp breath. Was he dreaming? Was this some point in the future he hadn’t   
been to yet? Missing some time he and Malfoy had- _something._

“What are you talking about, Malfoy, I haven’t seen you since the trials-”

He moved forward and was instantly in Harry’s space. Harry thought he should pull away, but he remained still, inches away from Malfoy. 

“Haven’t you?” Malfoy was leaning in, so close Harry could feel his breath on his face as he turned it up to the taller man. His body sang, tingles rushing all over. He’d never felt like that when he kissed Ginny, that was for sure. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and take, but he wasn’t sure. What was Malfoy playing at? Was he trying to trick him? Harry stared deeply into Malfoy’s eyes, breathing turing into panting, and watched in awe as his pupils slowly dilated. He was so close. All he had to do was lean in and close the space-

Malfoy moved back, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t be right, I suppose. To steal a kiss.”

Harry shuddered at the admission of the almost-kiss. He stepped decidedly forward and slid a hand around Malfoy’s neck, pulling him down into a press of lips. Harry felt a moment of surprise, the way Malfoy melted into the kiss, angling his head better so they wouldn’t bump noses. His lips were so very soft, and soon became demanding. The kiss deepened and Harry felt strong arms encircle his waist and pull him flush with the hard planes of Draco’s chest. Harry felt himself harden, but held back from rubbing against Malfoy’s leg, it was only kissing.

Only kissing! There was nothing ‘only’ about it. It was _everything_. It was electrifying, terrifying, and made him crave more. It was like waking up after a confusing dream, and knowing what you wanted and knowing what your life was, finally. And apparently, Draco Malfoy was part of that. He smiled into the kiss, eyes fluttering open and meeting grey ones.

“I’ve never kissed a bloke before,” he blurted stupidly, smile growing at the incredulous look on Malfoy’s face.

“Merlin, Potter, are you serious? Never?”

“Nope,” Harry popped the p.

“Salazar’s blue knickers, Harry, you say things like that- it makes me wonder if…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “That was our first kiss.”

Harry quirked his head and moved in for another quick kiss before backing up a little. “Um, yes?”

Malfoy’s breath caught and he stared at Harry in wonder.

“Tea?” 

Malfoy nodded, following Harry when he opened the door. They walked downstairs to the kitchen and Harry filled the kettle the muggle way, expecting a comment from Draco. He twisted around to ask him what kind of tea, but Malfoy was already getting out the bags and mugs. He picked Earl Grey for himself and English Breakfast, dropping it in 

Harry’s favorite mug. How did he know?

Draco froze and looked up guiltily. “What? Did I get it wrong?”

“No, you got it right. That’s what’s troubling.”

Draco sniffed. “I suppose you’d know my tea preferences just by watching me sixth year, am I correct?”

Harry blushed, smiling slightly. “I guess you’re right. No milk, two sugars.”

Draco nodded smugly and pulled out the sugar bowl and went for the milk for Harry. It was strangely domestic.

“Draco,” Harry asked, the name tasting good on his tongue, “how much do you know?”

Draco’s eyebrows went up. “Time hopping, Hermione and Ron just found out it’s not what you say, I’m planning on floo calling them in a moment...and we’ve been shagging for a few months.”

Harry nearly dropped the kettle. “Excuse me?” His blood rushed to his cheeks and his cock, making him slightly dizzy. 

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes, looking put-upon. There was a small smile underneath. He was so much more…. _intimate_ , as if he’d always spoken to Harry this way before. Familiar. Harry found it quite...comforting. He went to stand close to Draco and pour the water. _Shagging._ Very interesting.

“To my recollection, I have never shagged a bloke,” Harry muttered, moving into Draco’s space. “Or been shagged _by_ a bloke.” Harry sipped his tea thoughtfully, watching Draco over the rim of his mug. 

“Is that right?” Malfoy’s cheeks were now flushed. “Never?”

“Not today, anyway,” Harry grinned when Draco swallowed. He liked this little game. He hoped it would end up where he wanted it to end up. “You know, we could always wait a little bit to call Hermione and Ron.”

Malfoy took Harry’s cup away and set it back on the counter. He took Harry’s hand in his and headed up the stairs to Harry’s bedroom. He didn’t even question why Draco knew where it was, obviously they had done it sometime recently, in the present time. Harry felt elated. 

Draco stopped in front of the bed, pushing Harry back onto it, straddling his thighs, holding him still. “Have you ever played with yourself? Fingered yourself or anything?”  
Harry pulled his wand and un-transfigured the hairbrush, it swiftly becoming a giant purple dildo. “You mean like that?” He smirked as Draco closed his eyes and hung his head, arms shaking on either side of Harry’s head. 

“Fucking hell, Harry, you will be the death of me.” He leaned in for a fiery kiss, grinding their clothed erections, finally giving Harry the friction he’d been longing for. Draco cast a quick cleaning charm and Harry shivered at the magic sliding inside him. Soon there would be so much more.

Clothing was quickly divested, and skin slid against skin. Harry looked to his right and saw the Dark Mark on Draco’s forearm, faded and still. Malfoy followed his eyes, stiffening, waiting for a reaction from Harry.

“It’s not so bad,” Harry whispered, “we all have scars.”

Draco’s eyes darkened, and he attacked Harry’s mouth again. They rolled, Harry on top, and he pulled the bottle of lube from under the pillow cradling Draco’s head. Draco tucked his hands behind his head, watching Harry intently, his cock heavy and dripping on his belly, twitching as Harry moved over him. 

Harry uncapped the bottle, grateful he’d fingered himself earlier, knowing this would go quickly. He slicked his fingers, reached behind himself, lifting to his knees, and pushed two fingers in. He was also grateful that getting off earlier meant he would last longer.

Draco was squirming beneath, humping and rolling his hips against nothing, panting hard with his mouth open. Harry threw his head back as he thrust in a third finger, twisting and moaning. 

He felt that should be enough and withdrew his fingers, adding more lube and slathering it all over Draco’s waiting cock. His hands flew down to hold Harry’s hips, moaning his name and closing his eyes for a long moment. Harry lifted up, holding the head of Draco’s cock, rubbing it shamelessly against his loose hole, waiting for Draco to open his eyes. When he finally did, Harry lowered himself slowly, gasping at how _big_ it felt. He wasn’t sure at first if it would fit, but with more pressure, it did, causing groans from both, Malfoy’s fingertips digging into his hips.

He watched Draco’s face, watched him try to regain some sense of control, and decided this was the best thing he’d ever seen in his life. A dream come true. Draco Malfoy in his bed, coming apart, twitching inside of him. Harry lowered himself further, allowing the intrusion in with a whine. He leaned over and kissed Draco, messy and hard, thrusting his pelvis forward and then back, riding Draco’s cock at a lazy pace. 

A light seemed to switch on and Draco came alive, sitting up and wrapping Harry in his arms, flipping him over. “Alright?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” moaned Harry when he found his voice. “Do it.”

Draco peppered Harry’s face with kisses. He pulled out, all the way, and pushed back in slowly, angling. “I’ll make it so good for you, I promise,” he murmured into Harry’s ear.  
All coherent words were lost to a babbling of nonsense as Draco thrust deeply into Harry. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room as Draco sped up, pounding with his hips, his hand still carefully caressing Harry’s face, staring down at him with an unguarded look. Harry felt worshiped. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much. 

Simply too much to be feeling all at once.

Pleasure mounted swiftly, and Harry’s cock ached and dripped between them, causing him to cry out in pleasure when Draco grabbed it and tugged, spilling between them, the most intense orgasm he could remember having. 

Draco thrust his hips erratically then stilled, moaning out Harry’s name as he came. They lay there, twitching in the aftershocks, Draco slumped against Harry, squishing him. The weight of his body grounded Harry, relieving his seemingly endless loneliness. He fought the reality of what tomorrow would bring; because Draco might be ‘Draco who just arrived from France’ and he’d have to wait for time to catch up.

Draco carefully shifted them around, covering them with the duvet. Harry floated, pushing back the sorrow and burrowing into Draco’s side, hiding his face against his neck.   
Harry groaned when Draco slid out of bed.

“Harry,” he whispered, running his fingers through unruly black hair. “I’m going to get something, you stay right here. I promise I’ll be right back.”

Harry hummed and smiled, his eyes still closed. Draco’s footsteps moved around the room as he put on clothing, and retreated to the door. Harry buried himself further in the bed, hoping he wouldn’t wake alone again. Hoping he would be allowed to keep this memory of Draco, flushed above him, adoration and love in his eyes. Hoping that fate would allow them to be together.


	7. The Wrong Wand

“Thank Merlin for you Draco Malfoy,” Hermione said, “I think I’d about given up hope, and now…” She began to tear up, sniffling in her robe sleeve. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Granger?” He had never seen her so emotional. It was disconcerting. “Are you and Weasley coming through? What should I do? Harry is...in his bedroom-” he coughed, blushing slightly, “should I bring him to the attic?”

“Oh, no, I think it should be safe to bring the time holder to him. It might be more comfortable to wake in his bed. At least I think that’s what will happen…” She looked uncertain. “Okay, let me grab one more book from the archives on memories and we’ll be right there.”

Draco nodded and stood. He stuck his head back in Harry’s room. Harry had managed to put his pants and a shirt back on, and was lying back on the bed again. He was twirling his wand and humming. 

“Oh, hello Draco, did you call Hermione?” Harry stood and looked around, then grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor. Draco loved him in jeans.

“Yeah, she’s on her way, just grabbing some reading material,” Draco bit back a smile at how adorable Harry looked all shagged-out. “I’ll be right back- I have to get something from the attic.”

Draco raced up the stairs, excitement in his throat. He felt a pang of guilt for not going to the attic when he had first arrived, but Harry had just looked at him with such desire, such want, how could he tell him no? 

The attic door was locked again, and Draco could feel the magic seeping out. It was both warm and cold, heavy and light. There had been a touch dark magic used to alter the time turner- the Black family was known for it, of course- but it seemed less threatening this time.

Draco made his way to the corner of the attic lit by the strange glow of the object. He studied it from all angles, his eyes darting to his old hawthorn wand suspended in the light. He cast a _protego_ over himself and then the enchanted objects, hoping it would be enough to keep a barrier between himself and the effects of the time holder. He carefully levitated the orb he’d created and held his breath as he pulled it carefully with his elm wand to the attic door. 

Draco paused and reached for his old wand. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the warm wood, he felt a strong vibration move up his arm. _Harry’s magic was just so strong._ The once familiar magic on his hawthorn wand was...off. He needed to put the time holder around Harry’s neck before uttering the counter-curse, but the magic felt so unstable. He carefully moved through the attic, a wand in each hand, and descended the stairs. He heard murmurs as he came to the second floor. 

“Granger, I need some help out here!” he called.

Hermione, Ron, and, Harry rushed into the hall, stopping short when they saw what Draco was holding. Hermione cast a quick _protego_ over them all and raised her wand and took the bubble around the time holder from Draco. He sighed in relief when it moved away from him- his wand seemed to dampen a little. 

“Harry, lie down,” Hermione instructed. “I’ll place the chain around your neck and Draco will hand you the wand, alright?” Harry nodded, his eyes landing on Draco’s, wide with fear. 

Draco fought the urge to hold him. He moved to the side of the bed opposite Ron, who looked paler than usual, wand pointed at the time holder. Hermione levitated the chain, dropping both the protection spells around it and Harry, lowering it around his neck. Waves of magic were bouncing off the _protego_ around the rest of them, and the hawthorn wand was humming and vibrating, pulling toward Harry. He got a nod from Hermione and held it out for Harry to take. They met eyes and their fingers brushed, and Draco was blinded by a flash of white light, his body hurled backward, and then darkness. 

*******

“Draco,” Hermione's voice reached through the blackness, and Draco opened his eyes. He was laying on the white carpet in front of his floo, the fibers soft under his fingers.

He sat up quickly. “Did it work? Is he okay?” he asked frantically.

Hermione’s eyes were happy, but Draco could see the sadness lurking behind them. 

“Oh, Draco, he’s awake, but he doesn’t remember anything.”

“Anything?” Draco asked weakly, “Couldn’t that mean he just woke up in another time?”

Hermione shook her head. “The time holder charm was undone, the counter curse worked. Its magic has been neutralized and inspected. I brought you back here before the   
Ministry’s people came to check it out. They will be doing further study, but the consensus is that it worked. We just have to wait until morning to see if he’s moving through time properly. I have to go, I’ve been gone for awhile, I just needed to make sure you were okay.”

Draco’s heart stuttered. She really didn’t know anything, not really.

“Please floo me as soon as you can in the morning, please, Hermione,” he grabbed her hands in his, “please, I have to know.”

The witch pulled him into a tight hug and he let himself relax into it. “And your wand, Draco, I mean, the hawthorn-”

“It’s not mine anymore. It’s not anyone’s, really. It’s been warped and I could feel...it wasn’t right. It’s okay, the Ministry should keep it locked up.”

Hermione nodded, and pulled back to look him square in the eye.

“He loves you, I think he always has. You have a chance, even if he’s forgotten the last year, you’ll always have a chance.”

Draco nodded. “If you want to try the pensieve-”

She smiled ruefully. “Maybe not yet. He’ll come when he’s ready. I’ll let him know.”

Hermione stood and left, leaving Draco seated on the rug, lost in thought. 

The next morning she called. Harry had lived two sequential days, but still remembered nothing of Draco.


	8. Harry's Problem

 

Harry had a problem.

 

It was by no means a new problem; he knew he was a bit obsessed in school, especially in sixth year, and it was almost too easy to slide back into the behavior.

 

Stalking Draco Malfoy.

 

It had been about a month since he had woken up with a swarm of curse-breakers, Aurors, and Hermione and Ron standing over him, asking him what day it was.  It was confusing- they said it was curse damage- and he was brought up to speed with what had happened.  

 

It was overwhelming.  But sounded vaguely familiar.  A strange niggling in the back of his brain.  He wanted to keep anyone from being hopeful that he’d regain the lost memories, so he kept that to himself.  

 

He slipped into a routine, visiting Hannah Abbott, spending time at the Burrow and with his godson.  The media grabbed hold of the story for awhile, but Pansy Parkinson, of all people, had put a stop to it all, after writing a lengthy interview with him and printing only facts.  Life went on, and the hopelessness he had felt before the accident had slipped away.  He remembered those dark days where he had come up with the plan to go back and save his parents- thinking the wand that killed Voldemort would be strong enough to take him back that far- and the confused and lonely logic behind it.  He was more peaceful now, and tried to focus on what he had instead of when he had lost.

 

But he had lost Draco Malfoy, and he couldn’t let it go.

 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to just show up at Draco’s shop and say, ‘hey, how about a date or something, I think I’m horribly in love with you, but it’s not fair that you remember us and I don’t.’

 

So he had done the most sensible thing, of course:  stalk Draco from afar in his invisibility cloak. 

 

He watched him interact with customers, make potions, and go home alone night after night.  Harry had followed him to a few clubs on the weekends, but Draco never pulled, he just smiled politely at any man who approached him and refused their company.  He drank a few pints and would head home.  Sometimes Pansy would come to town and drag him out to a club, but he was reluctant any time she would bring him a man and push the two to the dancefloor.

 

It was on one of the occasions that Harry realized without a doubt that he was in love with Draco.  

 

It was jealousy at first, then longing, then pining.  He would get as close as possible and eavesdrop, hoping to hear Draco utter his name, but he never did.  When someone would ask about Harry, Draco would seal up tighter than an drum and walk away.  

 

Harry first heard about the pensieve therapy from Luna.  He was attending her ptsd group at Mungos, and he had began to feel a passion for helping people just like him.  No one in the group treated him differently because he was the Boy Who Lived Twice, and he began to feel the effects of recovery.  

 

Luna asked if he was interested in seeing someone for pensieve therapy.  That someone was Draco Malfoy, so Harry declined.

 

But it made him realize Draco had a pensieve in his flat.  

 

Oddly, Harry was able to get through Draco’s wards, as if he had left them open on purpose.  It was the afternoon Draco took patients at St. Mungo’s so Harry knew he had a few hours to check the place out.  He pulled the invisibility cloak from his shoulders and looked around Draco’s living room.  It was sleek and modern, but warm and smelled like a beautiful memory.  He kicked his shoes off and sat on the white rug.  It was so soft.

 

He cast an _accio_ and the bookcase slid aside, the pensieve floating out and revealing shelves glowing with hundreds of memories.  Harry stood and and went to look, his eyes drawn to a particularly bright memory, moving around in a larger vial.  He picked up up, turning it to read the label.

 

_Harry Potter, 2004_

 

Harry trembled.  In his hand he held some sort of answer.  He uncorked the vial and poured it in the shimmering bowl, leaning until his face submerged and he fell.  

 

Memories swirled around him, all of him, and all from Draco’s eyes.

 

Touches, looks, kisses.  Seemingly innocent exchanges turned to deeper looks, clothes disappearing, bodies writhing against each other.  Harry was hard in an instant, breathing harshly.  It was like seeing all of his dreams and fantasies in full color.  He recognized the walls of the Janus Thickey ward, and remembered the feel of Draco’s hair brushing his cheek as they hid under the cloak together and giggled as they snuck out.  He recognized a flash of blue- the waistcoat that brought out Draco’s eyes and remembered taking it off him and laying back on that fluffy white carpet, spreading himself open for him.  He remembered how their skin felt rubbing against each other, how their breaths mingled.  Harry realized he had closed his eyes at some point, but the images continued, memories of Draco flooding back in.  

 

Harry pulled himself out of the pensieve and staggered back, overloaded with images, some happy, many sad, the need for Draco overshadowing everything he did and where he was.  It was all that was missing and it came thundering back with a vengeance until he collapsed on the fluffy carpet.


	9. I Couldn't Leave if I Tried

 

Harry Potter was laying on the rug in front of Draco’s hearth.

 

Draco blinked, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.  He knew he felt Potter watch him often, sure that he came into the shop hidden under that bloody cloak, even watched him brew- but this was entirely new.  He looked around the room.  Oh.  The pensieve was out.  

 

Draco sank to his knees and pulled Harry’s head into his lap, stroking his hair and whispering soothingly.  

 

“It’s okay, Harry, you are safe.  You are right here with me, and you are safe.”

 

The signs of a traumatic flashback were written across his face.  Harry was shaking, staring blankly at the wall, seeming to process several things at once.  Draco was patient.  He’d waited this long, he could wait longer.  Harry’s eyes relaxed and slid closed, his body curling around Draco’s, clinging to him.  Draco thrummed with hope and anticipation.  He swallowed back tears and waited.

 

“Draco,” Harry whispered.  “I…”

 

“Shh, Harry, it’s okay.  I’m here now, you don’t have to hide from me anymore, alright?  I’m here.”

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

Draco’s heart fluttered with hope, just a little.  

 

“Harry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for, okay?  You’re here now, and whatever that means, and whatever you need, I will be happy with it.  Alright?”  Draco rubbed small circles into the small of Harry’s back.

 

With his eyes still shut, Harry smiled.  It started small and spread across his face, more beautiful than anything Draco had ever seen.  

 

“Open your eyes, Harry, I promise I’ll still be here.”

 

Harry squeezed them tighter, a tear leaking out.  “You never gave up, did you?  Through everything, even though you had to leave for a bit, you never really let go?”

 

“Harry, I-”  Draco swallowed.  “I couldn’t even if I tried.”

 

Brilliant green eyes opened, looking deep into Draco’s, everything clear as day written in them.  

 

Draco’s breath caught.  “Do you-”

 

“I remember things,” Harry said, a smirk pulling at his lip.  “I remember our first kiss- your version right here, and mine much later.  I remember you holding me and everything making sense finally.  I remember all the shagging, sweet Merlin, every bit of that.  I remember that you love me, and maybe this time you’ll believe me when I say I love you back.”

 

Draco pulled Harry up, their lips crashing together and they melted into one another, arms wrapped tightly, trying to sink into each other. Harry opened his mouth wider, sucking on Draco’s tongue, moaning.  Draco’s hands worked quickly to undress them, and Harry stood to drag them, still attached at the lips, to the bedroom, pushing Draco back onto the bed.

 

Draco looked up at the masterpiece that was Harry Potter.  His eyes were blackened by lust, his chest heaving, his hair the usual mess.  His cock was heavy between his legs as he crawled over Draco, pressing their bodies together, and meeting Draco’s lips again.  

 

The kisses were slower, Harry’s movements purposeful, and Draco felt worshiped.  He melted into the mattress, moving to lean on the headboard so Harry could straddle him.  They moved together, rocking, whispering moans, friction slow and sensual.  Draco ran his hands along Harry’s thighs, back to his arse where his fingers brushed his hole.  Harry moaned and used Draco’s wand to fill his palm with lube, spreading some to Draco’s fingers to open him up.  They moved together so naturally, wordless communication passing between them as Draco slid fingers into Harry, stretching his gloriously tight hole, while Harry wrapped a hand around both their lengths, slowly and torturously stroking them together.  Draco pushed his hips up, burying a third finger into Harry, urging him to ride his hand, watching in awe as Harry threw his head back, babbling about Draco filling him and how perfect it all was.  Draco was overcome and pulled his fingers out, sitting up, chest to chest to Harry.  The locked into a bruising kiss again, Draco lifting Harry’s hips to slide him onto his cock, inch by glorious inch, his tight hole spasming around him, sucking him in.  Harry locked his ankles behind Draco’s back and rolled his hips.  Draco shuddered and met his thrust.  He sucked and bit at the column of Harry’s neck, marking his collarbone and inhaling his sandalwood scent.  Harry scratched up and down Draco’s back, urging him faster, until his hips were snapping up as Harry slammed down, the tight heat gripping harder as Harry neared the peak, his cock leaking between them.  

 

Draco grabbed his waist and flipped them, not pulling out, and pulled Harry’s ankles to his shoulders, aiming for his prostate.  Harry cried out, grabbing the headboard and relaxing into Draco’s thrusts, allowing him to bring Harry to the edge, stroking his cock in time until it swelled and burst, Harry chanting Draco’s name as a prayer, arching off the mattress, beautiful and perfect, come coating Draco’s hand.  The pulsing of Harry around Draco’s cock drove him on, and he dropped Harry’s legs to move forward and kiss him messily as he drove into him twice more, filling him with come, fucking him through the most intense feeling of connection he had ever known.  Harry’s eyes were looking deep into his as Draco rode out the waves and the aftershocks, pressed deep inside, as deep as he could get.  

 

Draco closed his eyes, living in the moment of bliss, knowing now that the tiny blank space in the midst of his orgasm was reserved for the love he felt right then for the man he was linked to, and he never wanted to let it go.  

 

*******

 

Harry smiled as he entered the shop, absolutely loving Angelica’s ensemble.  She’d started adding little flashes of color to the usually black clothing, and today she had a bright red bodice that matched her lipstick, and he snickered at the elder witch she was serving, who looked perfectly scandalized.  Probably Pansy’s influence.

 

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” she called as he made his way behind the counter, headed to the lab.

 

“Hello to you too, Angelica, and how are you today Madam Sherwood?”  Harry smiled charmingly at the elderwitch.

 

She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.  “Harry Potter!  I say, dear boy, you are looking very well.  Must be love.  Am I right?”

 

Harry laughed and nodded his head.  He winked at Angelica and opened the curtain to peek in at Draco.

 

“Ready for lunch, love?”  Harry grinned at his boyfriend; he’d taken to wearing these ridiculous muggle goggles spelled to magnify so his measurements were more accurate, and he looked a bit like a mad scientist. 

 

“Sure, one moment,”  Draco set his glass rod to stir on its own, and set a tempus alarm on his wand.  He stepped back from the work table and pulled off his lab robes and the goggles.  He looked up at Harry, a smile spreading, turning into a smirk.

 

“You want to have lunch upstairs,” Draco leered.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed.  “If only I had the time.  My next patient is due in thirty, and I really am famished.  Hannah’s, mince pie is calling.”

 

Draco perked up.  “Ooh, that sounds perfect.  Angelica-”  he called as they went back out the front.

 

“See you after lunch, Mr. Malfoy,” she waved, not looking up from her magazine.  Draco rolled his eyes, not hiding the fondness.

 

They left the shop together, Harry’s eyes glancing over to the sign they had altered earlier that year when Harry had finished his internship at Mungo’s.  

 

_DM Potions_ it read, and under it in smaller letters read, _Draco Malfoy, Potions Master and Harry Potter, Mind Healer._

 

He proudly took Draco’s hand as they walked, breathing in the crisp Autumn air.  They’d done very well for themselves, building the reputation of their practice.  Draco had moved into Grimmauld place very soon after their reunion when it became obvious that the two couldn’t stay apart for very long, and they turned Draco’s flat into an office.  Their therapies worked in tandem, and they were able to serve quite a lot of war survivors, and help them move forward in their lives.  

 

Harry felt the lump in the pocket of his slacks under his robes.  He had dragged a miserable Ron to several shops before defaulting to Pansy to help him with his selection.  She knew exactly what to get, of course, and Harry knew they were perfect when he saw them. Two platinum bands, engraved with a Celtic knot of a dragon and a stag intertwining.  Harry had rolled his eyes at Pansy and she smugly admitted she had them special ordered for almost a year, she was just waiting to see which one of them would ask her for her help first.  She lost a 20 Galleon bet with Hermione on that one.

 

Harry curled his fingers around the box, smiling as Draco waved his arms excitedly, thrilled his latest experiment was going well.  He felt hope as they walked through Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron on that cool 30th day of October, headed to the table where it all began.  


End file.
